


Turn the Hype into Hope

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, It's Pete's Band, M/M, New York City, Pete's dance moves, The Black Cards took off, awkward cuteness, crazy questions, crepes for brunch, cuteness, eventual date, music genius, music talk, perfectionist Patrick, producer!Patrick, surprise twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9229208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: The Black Cards' first album went gold and they celebrated by getting gloriously drunk. Pete was thrilled that people loved their music--God knows that Bebe's voice was amazing but he never thought that he could make it as a bassist and songwriter. But their upcoming album was just giving him trouble...he couldn't quite get the sound right on a few songs, two of which were going to be the singles.Enter Patrick Stump--one of the best producers in the universe and two-time Grammy winner, who suddenly dropped out of the limelight about a year and a half ago. He was willing to produce three of their songs...and Pete had always had a tiny crush on him.





	1. Chapter 1

Of course he had heard of _Patrick Stump_ , who hadn’t? 

 

Pete scoffed at the email header, and clicked it open with more than a little grumbling about his manager and how someone that business savvy could really be that dense sometimes. 

 

 _Patrick Stump_ was only the best producer in the business. He was based out of New York City and almost never traveled anywhere outside of Brooklyn anymore. He had never been very into the limelight—only going to a few awards shows, and Pete remembered seeing he had been very obviously terrified when he accepted his two Grammys, saying a very quick thank you before nearly running off the stage. But about a year and a half ago, he stopped going _anywhere,_ and started to work almost exclusively via correspondence. According to the email that he was reading, his manager had somehow _managed—_ Pete’s mind skittered down that lame joke about a _manager managing to manage the management of the managed_ —to get Patrick to agree to produce three of the tracks on their upcoming Black Cards album, two of which they had already pegged as the chosen singles. If Pete was being totally honest, he was super excited. The Black Cards wasn’t quite a multi-platinum outfit yet—their first album had gone gold, and the band had gotten gloriously smashed to celebrate. Now this new album…the tracks were good, they just weren’t quite _perfect_. Bebe’s voice was amazing, and her parts were done and recorded and brilliant…it was just the overall sound of everything that went behind them he could’t quite figure out. Bebe wasn’t quite sure how to help him, and the guys had given him advice that couldn’t quite be called _constructive_. They had always figured it out on their last two albums…usually Pete and Nate would just bang around, messing with things until Bebe would perk up from the corner where she was playing on her phone or painting her nails, and say _“hey, play that again!”_ But this time…it just hadn’t quite been working. 

 

So if Patrick Stump, best in the business and pretty much a universally-acknowledged musical genius was willing to produce these for them? Hell yeah. Pete replied with a short reply that he felt conveyed everything his manager needed to know. 

 

_Fuck yeah, dude. Email him the stuff and let’s set it up!_

 

What Pete hadn’t told his manager was that he’d always had a teeny-tiny, mini crush on Patrick. Nothing major, it could hardly be counted as a crush, honestly. It was just one of those things where you knew that if the world had spun differently, if he had met Patrick at like…a Borders in the music section, they would have been best friends. Maybe even more than friends, because let’s be honest, Pete had a thing for nerdy guys—case in point, Mikey Way. Even though it hadn’t worked out it had been some of the hottest sex of his life, especially when Mikey would wear a Star Wars T-shirt and some thick glasses he had gotten somewhere as he bent Pete in half and fucked his brains into next Tuesday. But this Patrick guy…obviously they hadn’t met, that alternate reality hadn’t been the real one…but Pete couldn’t help it. He could imagine Patrick with band tees and a trucker hat, gabbing on about music late into the night while they ate cheetos. He could see Patrick singing into a microphone like his life depended on it, smiling at Pete as he sang the words he had written about them, even though nobody knew it. He could see their hands with their fingers threaded together, walnut brown and porcelain pale as he kissed those perfect lips…

 

Shaking himself, Pete rolled his eyes. _You’re such a fucking weirdo, Wentz. You’ve never even met the guy and you’re imagining playing in a band with him AND making out? Get a grip._ He laughed at himself for his daydreams, but mentally cut himself some slack. So what if Patrick had gorgeous pale skin, positively sinful lips the color of rosebuds and bubblegum, a bashful smile that lit up his face, blue eyes that seemed to see everything at once and curves to die for? He was just gonna help Pete with three tracks for their album. That’s it.

 

Two weeks later, Pete was ready to pull his hair out. He and Patrick had talked on the phone three or four times, and they had exchanged hundreds of emails and countless snippets of the songs, but they just weren’t _right._ Patrick didn’t seem to _get_ where he was trying to go with the song, what he was trying to say and to make the listeners feel with the overall style. It didn’t help that Pete was very much a rambler, that he figured things out as he talked with wild hand gestures and pacing. Of course, it seemed like Patrick was just the reverse…he seemed to like to think things through and send out a short, intense transmission of thought and questions and ideas…and then shut down again until he had it figured out. This had resulted in some frustrated emails and more than one long-winded rant Pete that had graciously bestowed on his erstwhile manager. 

 

In the end, Pete figured out what they needed to do. Patrick’s emails had a stilted, formal quality that Pete didn’t quite get—he didn’t talk like that on the phone, his cadence was almost musical and he had a deep sense of sarcasm that Pete both loved and hated. He had googled if Patrick was maybe not a native English speaker—that would explain the excessive use of “do not” instead of “don’t” and things like that…but unsurprisingly, the internet was notably silent on Patrick Stump, just like the man himself. 

 

Pete had tried to get to know this enigma during their phone calls and over emails, and had gotten a surprising amount of random information about the guy. Apparently Patrick loved really spicy Thai food, he hated the sound of the harpsichord, and he hated nicknames. His musical idols were David Bowie, Michael Jackson and Elvis Costello, and he hated mornings. He didn’t play video games, he wasn’t a huge reader but liked learning languages, he liked pepperoni and sausage pizza, apparently had a favorite sweater, and was a staunch democrat. Great info…but not really that helpful when it came to painting a picture of who the guy was. But no matter—Pete had the answer. 

 

“You want to come here?” Patrick’s voice sounded frustrated with just an edge of disbelief. “Didn’t my manager tell you that I don’t really work that way?” 

 

“Well, yeah.” In fact, Pete knew that his manager would be _very_ angry with him for even suggesting this, but hey. He was Pete Wentz, crazy shit was his thing. “But I figured that was only for annoying and totally untalented people who wouldn’t bring pizza to our jam session and wear boring clothes that go together.” He huffed what he hoped was a sarcastic laugh. “Matching is for losers.” 

 

“Well at least we agree on something.” Patrick’s reply was muted, like he was far away from the phone, but Pete caught it anyways. “I really don't have people come here. I prefer working at my own pace with everything…the same.” 

 

“I promise, I won’t get in the way.” Pete wheedled, “I won’t throw off your mystical-chi-voodoo-magic-savant-musical-genius thing. I just feel like if I was there, I could explain it way better. Obviously you know what you’re doing, so I guess I feel like we just keep running into a wall because I’m not saying it right. But I’m sure like, once we’re half a pizza in, and you can see my mad interpretive dance moves that totally explain what I’m getting at, we’ll make something fucking epic.” 

 

There was silence on the other end for a long time…and Pete held his breath, hoping that he’d cracked the nut that was the reclusive, brilliant and totally oddball Producer of the Year. 

 

“I doubt it will help, but okay. When?” Pete started to answer, but Patrick interrupted. “Actually, just clear it through my manager—he knows my schedule, and he’ll let me know when to expect you.” A stray thought of _someone’s too important to keep their own schedule, huh? Snooty, much Stump?_ flickered through his brain, but Pete squashed it and just grinned. 

 

“Deal.” 

 

~//~

 

 

True to his instructions, Patrick’s manager had contacted Pete’s manager and now he was standing at the entrance to Mission Sound Recording Studios in Brooklyn. His friend Chris—who had some friends in New York and as such had way more experience with the city than he did—told him where to pick up a pizza and how to navigate the maze that was the subway system. So after only a few missteps and only 10 minutes late, he was here. 

 

Pushing on the buzzer, he was let in by a girl—probably around ten or so. She introduced herself as Caroline, and said that Patrick’s studio was just down the hall. “It’s the door _not_ covered in stickers. My dad and I will be down here, if you need anything Uncle Patrick can’t help with.” She grinned at him and disappeared down the opposite hallway, where some pretty intense rap was being recorded, by the sound of it. Pete shrugged and headed down to, sure enough, the only door not covered in stickers. It just had a plain plaque with the words “Patrick Stump” on it. He could hear the deconstructed rhythms of the track he and Patrick had been working on and figured this had to be the right place, so he took a deep breath and opened the door. 

 

The space was warm—homey, lit by yellow light and there were more than a few vaguely Moroccan lamps scattered around the space, throwing off bits of color here and there. There was a large rug in the middle of the room, and a large shelving unit to the side that housed a meticulously-organized plethora of instruments. Posters were on the wall, arranged sparingly to give the space an organized feel, rather than the normal hodge-podge-mishmash of musical detritus that usually littered such spaces. 

 

Patrick—or who he assumed to be Patrick—was seated with his back to the door, hunched over a mixing board. He seemed to not even notice Pete had come in, so he cleared his throat. 

 

“Just set the pizza down on the table, and tell me what you think of this.” Patrick spoke with his back still to Pete, one hand waving vaguely at the plain wooden table and chairs jammed in the corner between the drum set and the keyboard. Pete didn’t say anything and did as he was told, setting down the pizza and pulling out a slice as the track began to play. Bebe’s vocals floated out after a snazzy intro, but something was off. He felt weird, just jumping into what he didn’t like without so much as a “Hi, I’m Pete, the one who can’t seem to use words right?” so he just listened. 

 

The track sounded good…really good. But it just didn’t have _something._ It needed something to make it _pop_ without sounding like _pop music_ too much. Pete figured he’d just give it a shot to play through, and was rewarded with a fascinating little trill at the end that Patrick must have added. 

 

“Whoa, dude, I really like that thing you had at the end, what was that?” 

 

With delicate fingers Patrick rewound the song. Pete noticed he had an odd assortment of controls on the soundboard—all dials and roller bars and levers. Definitely not the standard setup, but hey. Patrick wasn’t a normal guy after all, he was a multi-platinum producer. Pete had done a bit of research—Neon Trees, Say Anything, Mumford and Sons, and the Arctic Monkeys had all recorded here, and Patrick was credited with quite a few of their big hits. So who cared how he made musical magic, after all? The trill came out again, a musical twirl of what sounded like a kinda campy violin and a couple electronic beats. Patrick stopped, fingers that were dancing over the board coming to a stop. “What about that do you like?” 

 

Rising from the chair, Pete moved over to stand by him, pizza still cradled in his hand. “I don’t know, it just has something l like. I want the song to be about that feeling when you just _let go_ and have fun, even if you know that the next morning you’re going to wake up a hundred bucks poorer, hungover as fuck and probably with a tattoo, but you don’t care. I want it to sound _carefree_ without sounding _careless_ , you know? Like you know you’re not quite making the best decisions, but you still know enough to know that you’re gonna come out with a great story on the other end and it’s worth it to just throw your lot in and go for it.” He turned back to the room’s other occupant from where he had unconsciously started pacing and waving his hands. Patrick was facing him now but with hands in his lap. That was a first—most people either began complaining loudly when Pete started his _interpretive dance_ routine that really just meant he was trying to think something through, or they laughed and sat back to enjoy the show. Patrick hadn’t moved, though, hadn’t even looked up. _No wonder he doesn’t go see anyone or work with people in-person. This dude like has no social graces, and that’s saying something coming from me,_ he thought with a mental eye roll, but decided to let it go. Musicians were an odd bunch, everyone knew that. 

 

“So…okay. How do you feel about tambourines?” Patrick sounded contemplative.

 

“Huh?” 

 

Letting out a huffing breath Patrick stood, turning to the wall of instruments. He ran his hands along the shelves until he came to a box that had an assortment of vaguely tambourine-like instruments. Pete noticed he was wearing sunglasses— _what a diva weirdo_ he thought, but pushed the judgement away. Pulling one out, Patrick returned to the mixing board. “Quiet now, listen to this.” 

 

Turning a few more dials, the intro started to play that Pete had heard before, but this time punctuated with a few more beats. Patrick began to shake the tambourine, giving it just enough movement to make the tiny cymbals beat and make a pleasing tingling sound without going into full-out mayhem.

 

After Bebe’s voice started to play, Patrick stopped, played with a few things and played the track back. It was _perfect,_ everything Pete had been hoping for, had been trying to say but couldn’t get across.

 

_And we're dancing, and we're dancing around_

_And we're dancing, and we're dancing around_

_In a club called Heaven, halos tripping out_

_And we're dancing, in a club called Heaven_

_Never going down_

 

“Dude, that’s fucking _awesome_ , how did you—like, that’s totally it!” Patrick spun around in his chair just as Pete jumped up and did a little impromptu dance concert of badly-timed hip thrusts and awkward flailing of his arms. There was a small smile playing around Patrick’s lips, but not nearly the normal response to a Pete Wentz Dance Fiasco. “Seriously, you’re like killing me with the serene-Jedi-Master-Yoda thing, Patrick. Nobody has ever stayed that calm when I pull out my dance moves.” 

 

“Oh.” Patrick did something strange with his head, tilting his chin up like he was attempting to look under his sunglasses. “Sorry, I didn’t notice.” 

 

“How can you not notice me dancing? It’s kinda the worst thing anybody’s probably even done in this studio!” Pete tilted his head, a bit peeved, if he was being totally honest. This Patrick Stump dude was _odd_. “Since we’re on the subject, what’s with the sunglasses? Are you like…from Men In Black? Fighting aliens in an alternate dimension or something when you aren’t producing?” 

 

Patrick shook his head. “Nothing that cool. Hand me a piece of pizza, please?” Pete did as he was asked, still trying to puzzle through this enigma of a guy, and Patrick did that weird head-tilt thing again. He mumbled _thanks_ and bit into it, chewing silently. “Mmmmm is this from that place down the street?” 

 

“Yep.”

 

“Great choice, dude.” Patrick swallowed and took another bite. “So where are you from? You don’t really have an accent so that rules out the South.” 

 

“Chicago.” Pete helped himself to another slice, figuring it was rude to let someone eat pizza alone. That was a rule somewhere, right? He was pretty sure he’d read it in an Emily Post column or something.

 

“Really? That’s crazy, I’m from Evanston.”

 

“Broooo you’re kidding, I grew up in Wilmette!” They began to swap stories and anecdotes about home, bemoaning at the recently-elected governor, arguing about the best pizza and whatever else flowed easily. Pete eventually asked the question he couldn’t hold back, after hearing the near-reverence Patrick seemed to hold the city in. “Why did you leave? I mean, New York is cool and all but…” 

 

Patrick shifted strangely in his seat and frowned at his crust before taking another bite. “Lots of reasons. Public transportation is way better here.” With that odd pronouncement, he jammed the last of the pizza in his mouth and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Okay, so let’s go over this again.” He began to play the track back, and soon enough they were back into the sweep of recording and producing, tweaking levels and making the song into something that was even better than what Pete had envisioned. 

 

Moving onto the next track, Pete started to relax and actually enjoy himself. Sure, Patrick was odd, sure he had some weird quirks…but damn if he wasn’t a good producer. He was actually a great _musician_ , that much was clear. He would frequently get up and go to the large shelves and pick up an instrument to add to the track, and there seemed to be nothing he couldn’t play. His sense of rhythm and timing were excellent, and Pete could tell that he really _loved_ what he did. They didn’t quite argue, but they had a few _heated_ discussions about how a chord progression should go, or if they should put horns or piano in the background. Through it all, Pete was enjoying himself, enjoying making music with this quirky weird guy who had strong opinions on pizza and public transportation and was—sunglasses notwithstanding—even more gorgeous in person. 

 

Three hours later, they had two of the tracks finished, and were about to start on the third when the girl who had let Pete in—Caroline, he remembered—ambled into the studio. 

 

“Uncle Patrick, Daddy says that you need to take a break before _all_ your nerves explode or he’d come in here and make you himself.” 

 

Spinning around in his chair, Patrick affected a shocked expression and put a hand to his forehead in mock-terror. “Oh no…save me from the Angry Daddy, Caroline!” Patrick held out his arms and the girl ran over to clamber onto his lap. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then leaned his head back in the chair. 

 

She made a small contented sound and pulled out a smartphone from her pocket, fiddling with it. “Did you know that playing the didgeridoo can actually help a person stop snoring?” Shaking his head, Patrick massaged his neck, wincing as he dug at a knot. 

 

“I didn’t, but I do now. Maybe we should get one for your dad, huh?” She giggled at that, then looked over at Pete, giving him a stern look and she crossing her arms over her chest as she lifted her chin imperiously. 

 

“Daddy says Uncle Patrick has to take a break, so don’t you go bothering him.” Pete noticed that Patrick was doing that weird head-tilting thing again, and grinning openly behind Caroline.

 

Raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture, Pete gave her his best sincere look. “I won’t, promise. I don’t want your dad to come kick my butt or anything.” 

 

She nodded, huffing, and then gave Patrick a look. She whispered something in his ear and whatever she said made him bite his lip, trying not to smile. Pete watched as Patrick schooled his features into patient acknowledgement as he replied. “Well…your dad’s been telling me to get over it and not be such a hermit crab, right? This seemed like a good place to start.” Caroline gave Pete a long, appraising look, and Pete couldn’t help but feel like he was being assessed and probably found lacking by a ten year old. 

 

In the end, she simply sniffed and shrugged, hopping out of the Patrick’s lap and heading to the door, calling over her shoulder as she went, “I’ll tell Daddy you’re going to finish eating the pizza before you start again, _okay?_ ” 

 

Patrick grinned, tilting his head up as he grinned at her wryly. “Yes moooommmm.” He drew the word out and Caroline giggled as she shut the door behind her. Scooting his rolling chair over, Patrick pulled another piece of pizza from the box. “She’s an awesome kid…she can play the piano way better than I could at that age.” 

 

Laughing, figuring that was probably incredibly high praise from someone like Patrick, Pete took the second to last piece. “She seems pretty cool. You and her dad friends?” 

 

Nodding, Patrick took another bite. “Yeah, Oliver is a good friend, this is his studio. When I moved here, he happened to be moving into a bigger location and we kinda just merged interests. I needed a place to record, he needed some help getting into this space, so it worked out awesome.” He laughed easily. “And we’re all ruled by the Iron Fist of Princess Caroline, and she knows it.” 

 

Pete stretched his back as he finished his piece, feeling muscles relaxing and joints popping. “Do your nerves explode a lot? I mean, should I like set up some cover just in case?” He meant it to be a joke, because seriously, who had ever heard of _nerves exploding_? Patrick’s smile faltered for a moment, but then it was back so quickly that Pete wasn’t sure if he had imagined the tiny twitch. 

 

“Nah, I think everything that’s going to explode has already done it. You should be safe, unless you want to argue about the key for the bass line again.” Patrick rubbed his neck, and something suffused the room—tension, concern…something that hadn’t been there before now permeated the silence that stretched between them. With a sigh, Patrick pulled the sunglasses from his nose and wiped a hand over his face, his eyes staying focused on the ground. 

 

“I don’t really—this isn’t really public knowledge.” He sat back and his blue eyes settled on the wall of instruments. “What Caroline meant by that was…I have something called LHON’s—Leber Hereditary Optic Neuropathy. It’s a genetic condition where your optic nerves swell to the point where the cells die rapidly with almost no warning. It usually hits somewhere between 15 and 35, and it got me last year.”

 

Unable to help the confused look spreading across his face, Pete looked hard at Patrick, who was staring at the shelves like they held the secrets of the universe. He looked…totally normal, _Lay-bers Heredically…whatever_ be damned. “Umm…I’m sorry? It didn’t like, have any lasting effects, did it? I mean, you’re alright?” 

 

A wry smile twisted Patrick’s lips and he laughed humorlessly. “As alright as a legally blind musician can be, I guess.” 

 

Pete was pretty sure that you could have knocked him over with a feather at that point, because that was the _last_ thing he would have expected. All the little things he had written off as creative quirks and personality weirdness suddenly crashed down on him, and he felt like a total _asshole._ But in typical Pete Wentz fashion, compassion and understanding didn’t come out of his mouth first—curiosity and awkwardness did. _“_ Is that why you do that weird head-tilting thing?” 

 

Patrick actually smiled, a real smile this time, at that. “Perceptive, aren’t you?” He nodded, tilting his head back. “I still have my peripheral vision, so I can see you with your mouth hanging open like a loser if I look at you like this.”

 

Snapping his mouth shut with what he hoped wasn’t an audible click, Pete shook himself a bit. “Yeah, I’m not…that’s just crazy dude. Should I say I’m sorry or should I say that the sunglasses are a good look? Very Ray Charles.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Patrick shook his head with a deadpan expression. “Never heard that one before, very original.” 

 

“Perceptive and original, high praise from Patrick Stump, huh?” Pete took the last slice, deciding unilaterally that he needed it. “Well shit, I guess it makes sense why you don’t really go out anymore, and why public transportation would be a big selling point.” A thought occurred to him that made him plunge ahead when his brain was screaming at him _Awkward Alert! Shut the Fuck Up and get back to the music!!_ “Why are you telling me? I mean, we just met and I’m pretty sure I’ve done nothing but annoy you.” 

 

Shrugging his shoulders eloquently, Patrick leaned back in his chair. “I’ve always really liked your music, I listened to _Up the Anti_ and I liked where you were going, the whole Ska, British rock dance thing going on.” 

 

“Well…shit. Thanks, I guess. Is it cheesy to say that I’m flattered someone as cool as you would notice?” 

 

Patrick gave him a small smile that seemed like the most genuine thing Pete had ever seen. “It would definitely be cheesy, and it’s totally undeserved. I’m just a producer.” He rubbed his neck again, and Pete realized this had to be his nervous twitch. “This is probably more than you want to know…Oliver has been great, he’s really helped me ever since it happened. But he and my therapist must be colluding or something, because they’ve both been pushing me to…not treat it like it’s a dirty secret. To talk about it and get back into the world.” He tilted his head up to look at Pete for a moment and then plunged on. “I read about your struggles with Bipolar and depression and stuff and I guess it just felt safe to me to tell you. Like out of anyone in this fake, superficial industry, you’d actually get what it feels like.”

 

It felt like his face was on fire and his hands were ice, and Pete figured that was probably the nicest compliment he’d ever gotten from anybody that wasn’t his mom. “Well…I can’t say I know what going blind is like, but I’m definitely way familiar with depression.” Possessed by something he couldn’t quite name, he scooted his chair closer and settled his hand on Patrick’s knee. “Thanks for telling me dude. Fuck, I can’t imagine what you must have gone through, and the five-year-old part of me wants to ask you a million questions, but I think it’s pretty amazing that you didn’t let it keep you down. Says a lot about you.” 

 

Patrick’s hand came to rest on his, and he squeezed momentarily, a wan smile on his face. “Thanks.” He didn’t pull his hand off Pete’s, and for a moment it felt like there was something buzzing between where their skin was touching.

 

But then they both pulled their hands away, and Pete was left wondering if he was crazy. But the smile was still on Patrick’s lips, so he must have not been _that_ creepy, right? 

 

Rolling his chair back towards the mixing table, Patrick ran a hand though his hair. “Let’s get back to it, huh? I think I’ve taken a long enough break for Caroline to let me be.” He started to put his sunglasses back on, and the gesture made Pete feel inordinately sad for some reason. Patrick had gone through enough…he shouldn’t have to feel like he had to hide on top of it.

 

“Dude, you don’t have to wear the sunglasses. You told me what’s up…you don’t need to like, be ashamed of it.” 

 

The smile that lit up Patrick’s face was genuine and full of thankfulness, with just a hint of surprise. Like he was taken aback that Pete wasn’t weirded out or thought he was some sort of invalid.

 

“Thanks.” 

 

His daydreams from earlier swept through him, and Pete wondered if this could be the start of something new, something awesome. The way Patrick was smiling at him, it was like they were the pitcher and catcher on the field, sharing the secret of what kind of throw was coming to defeat the batter. Like a team. 

 

It felt _good._  

 

~//~

 

 _Another_ three hours later they were still sitting there. Oliver had brought in a six-pack and they had bullshitted for a while, laughing about how stupid Tom Cruise was to leave Katie Holmes and discussing the new Panic! At the Disco album. The conversation flowed easily, Caroline joining in with a Capri Sun juice box and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Pete made a comment about Darth Vader being the ultimate villain, and Caroline lectured him sternly about how Anakin Skywalker just wanted to be loved and the Emperor really was the ultimate bad guy, and wouldn’t brook any argument to the contrary. Oliver and Patrick hid their smiles and let them argue, only stepping in when it became clear that neither were going to back down. Shortly after, they left and it was just Pete and Patrick…the tracks were long finished, but Pete realized he really didn’t want to leave. He liked hanging out here in the burnished light with this gorgeously talented guy who was a surprisingly funny fountain of trivia and conversation. 

 

But all good things have to end, eventually. Caroline poked her head in and stuck her tongue out at Pete. 

 

“Uncle Patrick, you said you would sing to me before I went to bed.” 

 

“Ummm no that’s the _other_ Uncle Patrick, I think.” He looked at her in that odd, askance way as she shook her head defiantly. 

 

“There _is_ no other Uncle Patrick, silly!” 

 

“Oh, well in that case, I guess I _did_ say that. I’ll be up in just a couple minutes, sweetheart. Go get comfy, alright?” Caroline nodded and left, and Pete sensed that was his cue, even though he really didn’t want it to be. 

 

“Well, unless you want me to wait so you can come sing me to sleep in my hotel room, I guess I’ll head out.” As soon as it was out of his mouth, he realized how weird and creepy that probably sounded and he just wanted to crawl under the mixing table and hide. 

 

But Patrick wasn’t looking at him like he was a weirdo, he was smiling a small smile that made his lips look positively _kissable_ and Pete had to hurriedly tamp down on several inappropriate thoughts. 

 

“Sounds tempting, but I think Caroline would murder you.” They laughed—a huffing, twitchy sound, and Pete wasn’t sure how to say goodbye. This clearly wasn’t _just_ a recording session, it had gone far past the time his manager had blocked out on his schedule, but he had no idea what it _was._ What do you call it when you kill a pizza and a six pack with a famous recluse you’ve always had a crush on, and he trusts you enough to tell you—out of the whole of the music industry—that he’s blind? 

 

Patrick figured it out for him—standing, he tilted his head and then walked towards the door, pausing to hand Pete a small card he had pulled from the pocket of his cardigan. “My cell is on here. If you’re ever back in the city, let me know. I’ll take you to lunch at this killer crepe place down the street.”

 

Pocketing the card, Pete felt something stir in his gut, and he couldn’t help the giant smile that stretched across his face as Patrick gave him a smile and then left the studio, leaving Pete alone in the golden light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete just so happens to be in New York...and just managed to be available for a crepe...
> 
> Totally a coincidence, right?

The album was finished— _finally—_ and now they were in that boring phase when not a lot was happening because all the legal people and the marketing people and the contracting people were all arguing about how to release it. Bebe was taking a mini-vacation to Disneyworld with her boyfriend, Nate was doing the single guy thing and trolling the Los Angeles bar scene, and Matt had gone home to Chicago for his parents’ 50th anniversary party. 

 

So what if Pete accepted a DJ gig? It was good publicity and the club paid for all the expenses. If it happened to be in New York City…well, it’s not like that was Pete’s fault, was it? 

 

He stared at the screen of his phone, like it could give him the courage he was suddenly lacking. Patrick had sent him the finished tracks a couple days after their studio time, with a brief _Here you go…hope you made it back safely and that you’re happy with them. If you’re not, I guess you know where to find me._ Pete had replied lightning-fast, and they had emailed and texted back and forth sporadically in the last few weeks, and their communications had definitely seemed to take on the barest hint of a flirting cast…but now, it was different. It was no longer just emails exchanged between two guys on the opposite sides of the country. Friday night it would be real. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Pete opened an email and typed the best message his brain could come up with:

 

< _if that offer of the best crepe still stands…I’m available Saturday. I’m DJ’ing in Manhattan Friday night. >_

 

Pressing send, he took a deep breath, and waited.

 

The answer came back about five minutes later…five minutes that felt like an absolute eternity. He wondered if Patrick had meant it or if he was just being polite (but then again, who _politely_ asks you to get _crepes?)_ Maybe Patrick just wanted to be friends, maybe he had a supermodel girlfriend or an adorable curvy wife hidden somewhere (the internet was silent on this topic, despite Pete’s best coaxing and obsessive searching). Maybe…

 

_Buzz._

 

He looked down and saw he had a text. _From Patrick._

 

_< I have plans Friday night otherwise I would crash it just to be the only blind guy in the club. But Saturday would be perfect.>_

 

Pete’s heart leaped to his throat as he read the words, and then compulsively re-read them just to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. Nope…that was definitely a text from Patrick Fucking Stump saying:

 

(a) He had plans Friday night (Pete’s mind raced down all the possibilities of artsy musicians or geeky tech girls he could have _plans_ with but pushed that down)

(b) He would crash the club if he didn’t have the aforementioned plans? Does that mean Patrick even knew he DJ’d? Had Patrick googled him too? Was Patrick even into club music?

(c) HE WAS GOING TO HAVE CREPES WITH PATRICK FUCKING STUMP SATURDAY!

 

Twirling in place in his kitchen like a total idiot, Pete typed out a reply with suddenly sweaty hands grinning like a maniac. 

 

< _I don’t think I’ve ever had a crepe, so I’m a bit terrified. What time? And “crepe” isn’t code for “cut my organs out and sell them on the black market,” is it? >_

 

He opened his email to see when his flight left Saturday—nope, it was a late one, so he wouldn’t have to be at La Guardia until 5pm. He had never been so excited to be jet lagged as hell as his phone buzzed again and he swiped over to his text messages. 

 

_< I am going to ignore the obvious issues with that evil plan like the fact that I am blind and just point out that lots of people eat crepes. They are France’s national food. Meet me at the studio at 10:30?>_

 

Briefly, he considered texting back “It’s a date!” but then realized that was probably a horrible decision. _Slow your fucking roll, stupid. It’s probably just a professional brunch!_

 

Rolling his neck, wincing at the knots, he sent back a quick smiley face emoji and went to pack…no reason he couldn’t look nice for a professional brunch, after all. 

 

~//~

 

At precisely 10:10, Pete jogged up the steps and out of the subway station. He took a deep breath and tried to stop grinning like an idiot—the DJ gig had gone great the night before, music blaring and the kids dancing like there was no tomorrow. He loved the way the music vibrated through his body, the way it pulsed in his chest and plucked at his backbone. Not surprisingly he had been late going to bed, but it didn’t matter. Not like he slept a lot on a normal night anyways. 

 

Turning the corner, he stopped short, mouth falling open. Patrick was sitting on the stoop of the studio, tapping his foot and looking drop dead _gorgeous._ The brisk fall air had colored his cheeks and the very tip of his nose pink. He had on a light canvas jacket with a grey plaid scarf wrapped around his neck and tucked into it, making him look inexplicably like a sparrow puffed against the wind. He had a fedora on his head at a jaunty angle that Pete somehow thought made him look adorable and not at all douchey, like almost everyone else in the world who tried to wear them. He was wearing his sunglasses again, but it made sense at least—it was one of those perfect bright days with just a hint of cold to make it interesting. Pete couldn’t help the way his stomach flitted around his chest cavity seeing him sitting there, looking _perfect._  

 

Unsure, he walked up and stopped a few feet away. Patrick kept just tapping out a rhythm on his knees, so Pete cleared his throat and tried desperately to think of something cool to say. “You know, I’m sure Oliver would get a bench if you asked him.” He winced— _definitely not cool, Pete, way to go._

 

But Patrick only tilted his head to look up at Pete and a small smile broke over his face like the sunrise. “Probably, but I’d hate to be needy.” He stood and a bashful look came over his face. “I’m really glad you made it. I don’t wake up this early for many people so…you should feel special.” 

 

Grinning, Pete laughed. “This is early?” Patrick shrugged and he shook his head. “Well, I guess I feel very privileged then. Where is this place then for my first crepe experience?” 

 

Nodding down the street Patrick pulled something from inside his coat. “It’s only a couple blocks down that way, I figured we could walk.” The _something_ was white and looked like a bunch of sticks, and the bashful look became a blush that worked its way across his face and down into his scarf-covered throat. “I, umm…I can use the cane, or you can let me hold onto you. Whatever you’re comfortable with doing.” 

 

Feeling like an idiot for not recognizing the distinctive red tip to the bundle of white sticks, Pete shrugged. “Whatever’s easier for you. I don’t mind you on my arm though.” As soon as he said it he wanted to reach out and take the words back, feeling like a world-class creeper. But Patrick’s smile was reassurance enough to calm down the butterflies as he reached out for Pete’s arm. 

 

“Thanks. I…I use the cane when I have to, but it makes me feel like an oddball.” He snugged up to Pete’s side, wrapping his arm securely through Pete’s and pressing their shoulders together. Pete tried to restrain himself from jumping up and down at the feeling of Patrick so close to him that he could smell him, a faint scent of cotton and lavender and aftershave that was so intoxicating it made his head spin. “Just don’t let me walk into anything, okay?” 

 

Nodding enthusiastically, Pete started walking, enjoying the way Patrick’s steps synced up with his own, the warm weight of his hand on his forearm, the soft pressure of his body against his own. “I’ll defend your toes with my life.” They laughed and continued down the street, silence stretching companionably between them. It wasn’t tense or awkward…it felt more like they were both just enjoying the day, and the company. The sound of car horns and traffic floated around them like the rhythm of breathing on a windy night, and Pete caught the soft sound of Patrick humming next to him. “What’s this place called?” 

 

“Le Paris Dakar.” Patrick shifted his hold on Pete’s arm, hand fitting more snugly in the crook of his elbow. “It’s on the corner of Beech and 4th.” 

 

“What’s so special about crepes? I mean we’ve gone by like five places serving what looks like killer pizza.” Pete looked around at the buildings, scanning for a sign or something.

 

“You’ll see. If they don’t change your life, I think I’ve underestimated you.” Patrick smiled and squeezed his arm. “Quit fidgeting, it’s throwing me off. It’s up here on the corner.” 

 

“Sorry. Umm, how do you know that?” Pete patted Patrick’s hand comfortingly.

 

“Count the curbs.” With that nascent statement, Patrick tilted his head to the right. “We’re here.” Pete saw the elegant white lettering on the door and opened it, helping Patrick through the door and to the counter.  Behind the counter was an elegant woman with high cheekbones and ebony skin, and she smiled at Patrick, greeting him familiarly. She had a colorful coral-colored scarf wrapped around her head, tilting her head to the side as Patrick responded kindly, chatting with her about the weather and the opening of a new market on the opposite corner. He ordered and Pete didn’t catch what he chose due to his frantic attempt to speed-read the menu and cursing himself for not googling anything about crepes. 

 

“So, what should I get? The is kinda your show here, man.” Patrick turned his head and tilted his head up to look at him in that odd, askance way.

 

“Do you want a sweet one or a savory one?” 

 

“Sweet.” 

 

Patrick nodded. “The strawberry, Nutella, and banana one is my favorite sweet one.” He tilted his head down and smiled. “I’ve tried them all,” he admitted bashfully. “Do you want coffee?” 

 

“Sure.” Pete grinned and reached into his pocket for his wallet, but Patrick smoothly slid two twenty dollar bills across the counter, giving a gentle _keep the change_ to the woman behind the counter. She smiled and patted his hand softly, murmuring a softly accented _thanks honey._

 

Pete started to protest, but Patrick shushed him firmly. He carefully turned away from the counter and put out a hand to feel for a chair. Taking his outstretched hand, Pete guided him over to a seat by the window, trying to not obsess over how warm Patrick’s hand was, the way the guitar callouses felt on his fingertips as they brushed over his palm. Sitting down, Patrick said a soft _thanks_ as he unwound the scarf from around his neck and took off his jacket, putting them on the bench next to him. Pete was momentarily awestruck by the grey-sweater-and-navy-tee thing Patrick had going on—it was the most adorably nerdy thing he’d ever seen. The elegant woman brought their coffees, and Patrick smiled at her as he wrapped his long, pale fingers around the cup.

 

“So. Here’s my proposition—I’ll trade you a question for an answer, and vice versa. Whatever you want to know.” 

 

He wasn’t sure if the smile on Patrick’s lips was supposed to be teasing or not…but he liked it either way. Nodding, he grimaced mentally as he remembered Patrick couldn’t see him doing that. Like a total loser, he had compulsively googled everything he could find about LHONs, legal blindness, interacting with a blind person, and everything else he could think of to get ready for this…and here he was messing it up. 

 

“I’m an open book, dude. Ask away.” Pete sat back, putting his hands behind his neck. The questions started with their own lives—siblings and parents and which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle was their favorite. Patrick told Pete briefly about how his girlfriend had left him when he went blind and wanted to move to Brooklyn, and Pete told him about how his latest relationship had gone up in flames when he caught his ex trying to poke holes in the condoms. They geeked out over _The Force Awakens_ and laughed as they argued lightly about what musical act would give in and play at Trump’s inauguration. That led the conversation to move inevitably to music, and they began firing questions at each other.

 

“What’s your opinion of Kanye West?” [Pete thought his music was interesting. Patrick _loved_ it.]

 

“What’s your favorite instrument?” [Patrick’s first love was drums. Pete always wanted to learn steel drums.]

 

“How about a song you wish you had written?” [Pete’s couldn’t choose, and listed off twelve. Patrick smiled and said “Life on Mars.” _]_

 

“Best Prince album?” [Patrick had almost knocked over his coffee extolling _Purple Rain.]_

 

“Greatest British Punk band?” Patrick asked, and Pete fired back immediately with the _Sex Pistols._  

 

Shaking his head, Patrick scoffed and asserted it was it was definitely _Joy Division,_ at which Pete shrugged. “I can’t really argue there. _Sex Pistols_ had a totally epic sound that I love…but I can’t argue against the ivory tower of perfection that is _Joy_.” Patrick started to list off the things he loved about the group, but was interrupted by a cadaverous man setting down their crepes, dreadlocked hair swaying as he stood back up with a wide grin on his face. 

 

“Enjoy.” His voice was surprisingly breathy, and Patrick burst into the biggest grin. 

 

“You know I will, thanks man.” The man patted Pete’s ecstatic companion on the shoulder with a skeletal hand as he moved away. Patrick bent his head and took a long sniff, the steam from the fresh crepe causing his sunglasses to fog up, and Pete couldn’t help but find it hopelessly adorable. The wide grin was still on Patrick’s face as he picked up his fork and knife. “I hope you like yours, because I’m not giving you mine if you don’t.”

 

“And people say you’re a gentleman…” Pete hoped Patrick picked up on the teasing cast to his statement, which it seemed he did if the way his lips tucked up at the corner in a wry grin was any indication. He looked at his own crepe—it was on a strange triangular plate that echoed the shape of the dish to perfection. Whipped cream and strawberries adorned the top, and a promised hint of Nutella peeked out from between the paper-thin folds. Pete looked up to see Patrick neatly cutting slices of his undecorated crepe and tucking them away in record time. The other man must have picked up on the distinct lack of noise Pete was making, and he gave him a look that somehow managed to be both sternly adorable and patronizingly frustrated at once. 

 

“Don’t think I’m not above eating yours too if you don’t get a move on.” 

 

Laughing, Pete picked up his own utensils and cut off the tip of the triangle, where there was the least amount of _stuff_. Patrick had paused his tractor-like shoveling of the crepe in his mouth and was looking at him in that uniquely-LHON’s way Pete had researched, seeing him through his peripherals. Pete gave him a goofy look and shoved the bite in his mouth.

 

If someone had told him ten minutes before that his life would be forever divided into _before the crepe_ and _after the crepe_ , Pete would have laughed. But he wasn’t laughing now…because _holy shit_ it was the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten, and he’d eaten a lot of pizza in his life. 

 

“Fuck, did they put cocaine in here?! It’s _amazing_.” He swallowed the bite, the chocolate and banana mixing on his tongue in the most delightful way reminiscent of childhood and cutting the crusts off his sandwiches but in a totally adult way. He took another bite—this one with a strawberry—and okay, that should be _illegal,_ because the strawberry added the perfect brightness and acidity to the almost too-sweet hazelnut. Patrick was grinning as he resumed cutting his crepe and chewing the bites, and silence descended on the table as both men tucked away their meal. 

 

Patrick cut the last swath of his crepe in half and gestured at Pete. “Here, try mine.” 

 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t share!” Pete speared the slice anyways, unsure at the appearance of something green tucked into the crepe’s silky blanket but trusting that anything that came from that skinny dude’s hands had to be amazing. 

 

Shrugging in a delightfully cute way, Patrick’s entirely-kissable lips tucked into a small smile. “Well…I wouldn’t be much of a host if I kept perfection from you.” Pete looked at the bite and then stuffed it in his mouth, before an explosion of flavor on his tongue had him making slightly-obscene noises that he felt _absolutely no shame_ making. 

 

“It’s my favorite savory one.” Patrick grinned, scooping up the final bite. “It’s got goat cheese, fresh tomatoes, basil pesto and turkey.” 

 

If the goat was anywhere nearby, Pete was pretty sure he’d be willing to kiss it at that point. He couldn’t decide which he liked better—his own perfectly sweet and sinful concoction, or Patrick’s that was so intensely seasoned it was only a moment away from _too_ flavorful, but not quite. 

 

“I think I may need to move to Brooklyn.” Pete didn’t say that he would move to the end of the earth to get to have the privilege of more Saturday morning brunches with this incredible creature, because he was frantically trying to push down those thoughts. Patrick had been nothing but professional, their conversation centering on music and other related topics…there was no reason to think this was anything other than two musically-synced dudes grabbing the most mind-blowing food in the city. “Do you want more coffee?” He asked, suddenly in deep need of more caffeine. Patrick nodded, and Pete scooped up their cups in one hand and their plates in another, depositing them in the plastic bin by the wall before moving back to get their refills. He opted for a couple splashes of fancy creamer in his, and brought the steaming mugs back to the table. Where his friend was sitting. His stupidly attractive new friend. His friend who clearly was into girls and didn’t want Pete to kiss him. 

 

Patrick smiled and took his, sniffing appreciatively before setting it down on the table and resting his chin in his palm, head askance.

 

“So. Top or bottom?” 

 

The mouthful of Irish creme-laced caffeinated goodness that Pete was currently trying to swallow decided to try to kill him as he sputtered and tried to yank his brain back into his head from where it was currently leaking out his ears. 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

Patrick was grinning at him unabashedly now, sitting back and shaking with silent laughter. “God, what I could see of your face was priceless.” He pulled off his sunglasses and wiped at his eyes, blue pupils focused into the distance as he giggled. “It’s a totally valid question, and you said you were an open book.” He settled his chin back in his hand innocently as Pete tried desperately to get air into his lungs that wasn’t soaked in coffee, heaving a mighty cough as he tried to glare at the cherubic guy who was grinning at him like a little demon. 

 

“Ummm…how do you even know if I’m into guys?” Pete felt like that was the best deflection he could come up with as he desperately tried to re-orient the conversation in his brain in this new light. 

 

The deceptively-sweet smile just spread a little wider across Patrick’s lips. “You’d be surprised what a blind guy can figure out with a few phone calls.” 

 

Rolling his eyes, Pete huffed a bit at his now-burned lungs and rubbed a hand over his face as his stupid brain that wouldn’t let him pass up a crazy decision made him open his mouth. “Top usually, but I’d catch for the right person.” 

 

“Interesting.” Patrick’s voice had dropped a register, silky and velvet as he took a demure sip of his coffee. The word hovered between them, like mist floating over a glassy lake just before it froze. 

 

Cupping his mug between his hands like it could protect him from both his own mind’s sudden determination to imagine Patrick naked and his next question, Pete cocked his head to the side. “What’s interesting about that? What do you like, Producer of 2015?” 

 

Patrick blushed a bit but Pete could tell it was from the Producer jab more than anything—he seemed to be inordinately humble and shy about his work, and he’d take it at the moment. Anything to throw Patrick off the scent until he could figure this out. He gently circled the lip of the mug with a delicate finger, and Pete tried not to stare. 

 

“If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m kind of a control freak.” Patrick gave a self-deprecating laugh. “So it shouldn’t be too hard to guess I’m a bit bossy in bed, too.”

 

A short, barking laugh jumped from between Pete’s lips before he could stop it. “Patrick Stump, a power bottom?” He put his hand on his chest and affected a ridiculously overdone valley girl impression. “No. Freakin’. Way.” 

 

Shaking his head amusedly, his lips parted as his tongue darted out to moisten them, and Pete tried to not die right there of sexual tension. Patrick grinned and shrugged. “I know what I want,” he stated with an air of confidence and easy control. But then his cool demeanor cracked and he shook his head at Pete. “Alright, now that I’ve scared you, do you want to reciprocate by asking me any of those questions you said your inner-five-year old wanted to know about me going blind?” Pete thought back to the night in the studio when Patrick had confided in him what he had experienced, that he had suddenly lost his sight. 

 

“Ummm…well, I doubt any of them will be that shocking to you, but…” He thought about what he had read, all the forums and personal stories he had read, about the high number of cases that were mis-diagnosed because it was such a specific genetic defect without the benefit of hundreds of thousands of cases to drive research and study. Something devilish crossed his mind, and he said it with only a quick mental shrug _. “_ Do you watch porn still, now that you can’t see it?” 

 

A high-pitched laugh rushed out of Patrick and he shook his head at the question. “You’d be amazed at how much better your hearing gets when you can’t see. It…heightens other things.” He grinned and Pete shook his head, feeling like he was being outgunned at every turn by this sexy, charming, wickedly-funny and earnest guy. 

 

“Well…I guess that’s a good thing for a producer, huh?” Patrick nodded and gave him a small smile as he took a deep drink of his coffee, and Pete couldn’t help it. Sure, ten minutes ago he thought Patrick was only being friendly, and now he was ridiculously turned on and also a little bit in love…so what? It was his life and he loved it, and _his life_ meant that he took stupid risks. “But it’s inconvenient that you’re a musical genius _and_ devastatingly hot.” Patrick’s eyebrows rose behind his sunglasses and Pete wanted to punch the air in victory as he finished. “It’s just not fair to the rest of us.” 

 

With a stifled noise that, to Pete’s ears, sounded like a gasp, Patrick blushed a bit. “Yes, not fair to the hordes of people who are into pale, blind, bossy, workaholic producers.” 

 

Grinning, Pete leaned in for the kill. “Stop describing me perfectly, Pattycakes. It’s unfair.” 

 

Patrick definitely choked on his swallow of coffee, and Pete couldn’t help but giggle manically. _This_ was more like it. 

 

“I think we’d better head out before one of us needs CPR.” Patrick wheezed, coughing as he pulled on his coat. “And don’t you dare say _or mouth to mouth.”_ Pete frowned, because that’s exactly what he was going to say, and cursed Patrick in his head for being fucking clairvoyant. He only grumbled a huffy _fine_ and helped Patrick up and out the door, Patrick’s arm looped securely through Pete’s. He took the liberty this time of resting his other hand on top of Patrick’s, and he didn’t miss the way Patrick’s breath quickened just for just a moment at the contact. 

 

He wanted to kiss him so bad. He wanted to gently wrap his arms around Patrick and slowly move him backwards until his back was pressed against the crumbling brick and press his lips against that fucking _illegal_ mouth. He wanted to ask Patrick if he wanted to come back to his hotel, he wanted to hear what other noises Patrick would make when he was surprised and happy and hungry. He wanted to pull the scarf off and press kisses to the pale soft skin of Patrick’s neck, he wanted to see how far down he blushed and he wanted to dig his hands into those soft hips and bury his heart in Patrick’s chest. 

 

But for now…he would play it cool. Smooth. He was Pete Wentz. Smooth was his thing. 

 

They stopped in front of the studio, and Pete didn’t want to let Patrick slip from where he was tucked into his side, and briefly considered just continuing to walk and see how long he could get away with it. But like the genius he was, Patrick must have been counting the curbs and knew they had arrived, because he pulled away and faced Pete, one hand still lightly touching his elbow for reference. Pete’s mind was racing with _oh-my-God-do-I-kiss-him-or-is-that-too-much-for-a-brunch/crepe-date-was-this-even-a-date-holy-fuck-but-he’s-so-hot_ and he knew he had to go for it. He started to tuck his head down, thinking maybe he should just go for it…

 

Then Patrick was pulling him in for a hug, wrapping his arms around Pete and pressing his face into his shoulder. Like the perceptive asshole he was, however, he must have felt the way Pete was trying to go, to position himself for the aborted kiss. He pulled away with a smile and a knowing look on his face. “Were you trying to pull a move, Wentz?” 

 

“Who, me?” Pete tried to sound innocent, but it came out more squeaky if he was really being honest. 

 

The answering grin on Patrick’s face was priceless, and to Pete’s everlasting delight the shorter man skimmed his hand up Pete’s arm to find his face and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Then he tilted his head in that askance way as he smiled and backed up, hand behind him reaching for the doorframe. 

 

“You’ll let me know when you’re in town again?” The words came out soft and a bit lower than normal, and Pete wanted to pull Patrick into his arms and kiss him until he was breathless. But the voice in his head that was actually the mature part of him, the part that was screaming at him _don’t fuck it up! Slow and steady wins the race, idiot!_ and he decided to listen to it for once. Because he really _didn’t_ want to mess this up, he really was wondering if this could be something _good._  

 

So he just nodded unconsciously and smiled, hoping it bled into his voice. “Absolutely. I’m already booking my tickets in my head.” 

 

Patrick’s answering smile was all he wanted in the world as he nodded and turned to push open the door. A door Pete suddenly realized was cracked open just wide enough for two little eyes to be giving him the stink eye. Caroline ignored him as she held her hand out and said hello to Patrick, leading him through the door. But Pete heard her high, childish voice floating through just before it shut clear as a bell, and he couldn’t help but grin at her question.

 

“ _Uncle Patrick_ , were you on a _date?!”_  

 

Patrick’s answer was lost as the door clicked shut, but Pete answered her in his head as he walked away, feeling like he had just won the lotto. 

 

_You bet we were, little Caroline, and I'll be back for another soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and left me love! You inspired me to write more in this universe...because there's always that voice in your mind saying "you're the only one who likes this AU!" and it's so nice to know I'm not alone =) Not sure how far I'll go with it...but we'll see! Big thanks to the lovely @shattered_mirrors_and_lace for helping me through a couple rough patches!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something kept getting in the way every time...but tonight was the night. Pete was going to take a deep breath, tuck up his nuts, and tell Patrick how he felt. After all, the worst thing he could say was no, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of cuteness, a dash of awkwardness, a pinch of snark and some sexy time =) Huge thanks to @Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace for cheerleading me through my huge self-doubt over this story and chapter. You're the best girl!

Peering into the deepening gloom, Pete eyed the tables and their occupants looking for a flash of fair skin or the quirk of perfect lips. He turned the corner and his heart sped a few beats per minute when he saw him, and he was struck once again with how _damned hot_ Patrick was. Positively unfair, and something he was becoming more and more distracted by. In the six months since they had met for the first time in the studio they had seen each other four times, and Pete knew it was time to stop kidding himself that he was coming to New York for work. 

 

To be fair, once was after one of The Black Card’s shows—so what if Pete had wheedled the band’s manager to have one of the performance’s be at The Bell House? Brooklyn deserved some love, he had argued, and the rest of the band had learned long ago it was easier to just go along with his crazy ideas. Patrick had a shy smile on his face as Pete introduced him to the band backstage after the show, and had downright charmed the socks off the rest of them with his _awh shucks_ ways and musical trivia. Bebe hadn’t quit giving him moon-eyed faces whenever Patrick’s text tone went off since. They had texted and emailed and talked on the phone with frequency that made Pete feel like maybe he wasn’t just annoying Patrick into talking to him, and that he might genuinely enjoy their conversations. The producer was reserved, true, but he had a wicked sense of humor that Pete was getting to see more and more. It had quickly become the highlight of his day when he could get Patrick to let some of that snark out.

 

“Hey.” He slid into the booth and Patrick’s head jerked up at the sound. He was wearing a blue checkered button-up and a navy blazer with the sleeves all rolled up to his elbows. A smile broke over his face as he tilted his head and saw Pete, and he reached forward to cradle his drink between elegant fingers. 

 

“Hey. Glad you made it.” Pete was learning to see the little ways that Patrick displayed his obvious nerves after spending more time together—he would find something to play with, fingers never still, or he would run his hand through his hair when something caught him off guard.

 

“I’d never stand you up, Pattycakes. That’d be downright rude.” A blush suffused Patrick’s cheeks at the insinuation, and inwardly Pete gave himself a stern reminder of why he was here. The last few times they’d seen each other since the life-changing crepe brunch, something had always happened right when Pete would finally work up the nerve to make some sort of declaration to Patrick. To tell him that his crush was only getting worse and see if the blatant flirting they both readily engaged in could take them anywhere, or to see if Patrick would even want that. But each time, something interrupted or got in the way—once a business associate of Patrick’s had come up and obnoxiously sat down and just joined their conversation. Once a waiter had actually dropped a drink on Pete’s back, leaving him soaked and sputtering and Patrick cracking up like an asshole. He would gently kiss Pete goodbye on the cheek each time, but he never went farther than that, and Pete was left unsure. Their texts had all sorts of a flirtatious edge, but in person Patrick was more reserved, and so Pete was confused as fuck. But tonight was the night…he was gong to do it. Right?

 

He ordered a jack and coke, taking a sip and praying to the Liquid Courage Gods that nothing catastrophic would happen tonight. They talked about music and politics and Pete gave his glowing review of _Rogue One_ and Patrick told him a story about recording with Mumford and Sons that had them both cracking up. 

 

Two drinks later, Pete decided this was it. He was pleasantly buzzed and Patrick’s cheeks were painted a permanent shade of dusty rose—if it went to hell in a handbasket, he could always pretend to be plastered and hopefully salvage their friendship. 

 

“So I have a hypothetical question for you, and I want your honest opinion.” 

 

Patrick nodded and finished off his drink, pushing the empty glass to the end of the table and giving Pete a haughty grin. “The fountain of wisdom is open for business.” 

 

Laughing, Pete took a deep breath. “So there’s this… _person._ I’m really into them, and we text and talk like all the time. They’re really funny and _hot_ and crazy talented. But the problem is, I don’t know if they’re into me—it could just be that I’m misreading the signs or I could be like totally making it up in my head cause I’m crushing on them big time. But we don’t live in the same state, so if we tried something it would have to be long distance and I don’t know how they’d feel about it…but I really want to give it a shot, cause I’m pretty sure they’re the coolest person I’ve ever met. What should I do?” 

 

As the words left his mouth in a rush, the teasing look left Patrick’s face and he became serious. His face gave away nothing and as silence fell in the space between them, Pete decided for sure that he had totally just fucked it all up. He looked at the table, suddenly wondering if he crawled under it he could hide from Patrick long enough to die in peace. 

 

“You know you could just ask me out, right?” Patrick’s voice cut through his panic attack, and Pete’s eyes widened as he looked up. “That’s what most people would do after all the hints I’ve been dropping.” 

 

“Uhh…hints?” Pete knew he had to look like a deer in the headlights, and Patrick laughed at him softly as he looked at him askance. 

 

“What, you think I kiss everybody after working lunches?” He laughed, a totally self-deprecating and adorable sound. “Also, I’m blind, dumbass, do you know how much time it takes me to text you as much as I do? I wouldn’t do that if I wasn’t interested.” 

 

“Oh.” Pete was torn between being shocked that Patrick was, in fact, interested and grumpy that he had agonized over it for this long. “Why didn’t you say something to me, then?”

 

Patrick’s shrug was eloquent. “I wasn’t sure if you would want to do the long distance thing, and…I’m not exactly the easiest person to get along with, both because of my condition and my personality. I didn’t want to assume you’d be okay with it.” 

 

“Dude. I’m like…more than okay with it.” Pete felt like his heart was starting to thaw from the fear that had frozen around it and he was starting to feel like he had just pulled the winning logo numbers. “Like really, really totally awesomely okay with it. You’re kinda fantastic, if you don’t know.” 

 

Shaking his head slightly, Patrick gave him a smile that held a teasing glint that Pete _loved._ “So you’re okay with dating a blind guy that literally lives in his studio, uses a cane to get around, and has his clothes picked out by a ten-year-old?” 

 

“Caroline styles you?” Pete grinned, imagining it. 

 

“Yeah, she insists on advising me. I keep telling her I can actually see them when I look at them the right way, but its like she’s convinced I’m going to walk out of the house in pink pants and a lime green t-shirt without her.” 

 

Quirking his head to the side, Pete laughed. “Umm…are you saying you _own_ both those articles of clothing?” 

 

Patrick took off his sunglasses and Pete was struck again with the gorgeous color of his eyes. There was a glint in them, a twinkle of promise, and his heart was definitely beating a hundred miles an hour now as Patrick gently shook his head. “That’s boyfriend-only information.”

 

He didn’t even need to think about it, reaching across the table to lace his fingers with Patrick’s. “Well then _definitely_ consider me in.” 

 

~//~

 

The air was warm with the promise of summer as they ambled along past bars and closed shops. Patrick’s arm was tucked into the crook of Pete’s elbow and it felt different somehow…like it meant something more than just direction and guidance. 

 

“So, how do you think this is going to work?” 

 

“What, long-distance?” Pete shrugged. “We’re both adults—we both have lives and responsibilities and commitments. I’m not going to ask you to change that, I’m just kinda happy you’ll let me fit in where I can, I guess.” He could feel Patrick humming as he nodded. 

 

“That sounds good. Plus…nothing saying I can’t travel a bit too.” He gave Pete a small smile. “I think you’re good for me—you push me out of my comfort zone.” His face sobered again. “What about—I mean, I don’t live a very public life at all, but you do. I’ve never been very good at the spotlight, even before—“

 

“—Hey, hey.” Pete stopped and pulled him under the awning of a store that proclaimed to be _All Alpaca And Nothing But Alpaca_ and turned them face-to-face. “Honestly, I can handle it for both of us, it doesn’t bother me. But I want you to be comfortable—we can be as discreet or as showy as you want, ‘cause I know this isn’t just about _us,_ it’s also about what happened to you. So the ball’s in your court for that, okay? No pressure, whatever you’re good with.” 

 

Letting out a breath like a sigh, Patrick tilted his head and smiled, seeing Pete through his peripherals. “Thank you.” He moved his hand up Pete’s chest where it had been resting up to brush his fingertips against his cheek. “I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay with you.” 

 

“Not if I kiss you first.” Pete leaned in smiling and they met halfway, lips brushing each others tentatively like a moth fluttering down uncertainly to land on a branch. But something seemed to arc between them, and before he knew what was happening, Pete found his face cradled in those long elegant hands and Patrick was pressing closer, gasping. His lips parted and _oh God Patrick’s mouth_ …Pete felt like he was dying and coming to life all at once. 

 

When they pulled apart a long moment later, Patrick’s cheeks were flushed and Pete felt a little breathless.

 

“Holy shit.” Pete couldn’t think of anything more appropriate to say in the moment, but apparently that didn’t matter. Patrick’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as he leaned in for another kiss—this one soft and full of a promise.

 

“I…” Patrick started, cheeks stained a dusky rose. “Is your hotel far—?“

 

“—Do you want to come back with me?” They both stopped as they realized they had both asked the same thing, and a smile broke over Pete’s face. 

 

“Fuck yes—it’s like two stops away on the A train.” 

 

Patrick’s hand slipped into the crook of his arm again. “Perfect.” 

 

~//~

 

As soon as they were through the door, Patrick was reaching for him, hands sliding up to cradle his face as he pressed their lips together. Pete wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed him back against the wall, mouths open and tongues sliding over each other. He tried to hold back a shudder when Patrick’s hands slid down to grab his ass and their hips together, rolling to grind against him. Pulling away, Pete reached up and gently pulled the sunglasses from Patrick’s face and set them on the side table. 

 

“Don’t need to hide with me, okay?” Nodding with a grateful smile over his lips, Patrick pulled him back in for another mind-numbing kiss that made his legs feel like jelly and his gut flare with heat. He pressed against him and realized that he was perfectly willing to stand there grinding together like teenagers…but he wanted more. He wanted it to be something at least a little special, if he was going to be a romantic loser about it. “Bed?” 

 

“God, yes.” Patrick smiled and pushed away from the door but never let go, hands staying on Pete’s midsection as they moved through the darkened room. The sheer curtain was pulled over the window, bathing the room in a soft blue light that made them look like shadows at midnight. Pete pushed his small duffel bag off the bed and Patrick moved to lie down, shucking off his jacket and settling on the comforter. Crawling up, Pete moved to reach for the bedside light, but Patrick must have seen him through the edge of his vision, and made a soft noise, reaching for him. “Pete, I—“ His confidence seemed to falter for a minute, voice low. “I haven’t…done _this_ since, you know. Could we maybe—leave it off, please? Just for now?” 

 

Pulling his hand back to rest gently on Patrick’s chest, Pete nodded and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Anything you want.” The smile was back on Patrick’s lips as he turned his head, searching for Pete’s mouth. His hand wound into the short hairs at the base of his skull, and pulled him down for another searing kiss. Pete moaned into it, hands running up under Patrick’s shirt, feeling the soft skin of his chest, the gentle curve of his stomach and he was positively _dying_ for more. 

 

“Can I take this off?” He whispered and Patrick nodded, reaching down to help undo the buttons. They pulled it off with a flurry of elbows and tugging, and then they were both shirtless and gasping into each other’s mouths as they pressed skin to skin for the first time. Pete started to press wet, open-mouthed kisses to the creamy skin of Patrick’s neck, and he couldn’t help but grind against him gently at the high-pitched gasps coming from that gorgeous throat. Patrick’s hands were everywhere, sliding along his skin—touching, feeling, scratching, grabbing, caressing. Cursing his hands for shaking just the tiniest bit, Pete reached down for Patrick’s belt buckle, thanking whatever gods were out there as it opened easily and he wrapped his hand gently around the other’s engorged staff. It was soft, silky smooth and _large._

 

“Oh my God.” Patrick gasped, bucking up into his touch and sucking in a stuttering breath. Running his thumb over the head and relishing the answering moan, Pete buried his face in Patrick’s shoulder, biting gently at his collarbone. He bit and licked his way down, pulling the other’s pants down enough so he could swallow down the head of his cock in a single, smooth motion. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ _Pete.”_ He let out a long wail, high and breathy as he began taking in deep breaths around his cries. Sliding his tongue down and then back up to swirl around the head, Pete moaned as he started to suck harder, trying to think of every trick he knew to make Patrick see stars. 

 

“Stop, Pete, _Pete.”_ Patrick pulled at his shoulders and he came off with a wet-sounding _pop!_ as Patrick’s hands came to find his face. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling as his hands feathered over Pete’s face. “I want to ride you.” Pete moaned and let his head sink to rest against Patrick’s hipbones, mouthing at the skin as he nodded. 

 

“Lemme grab the stuff, hang on.” He surged up and pressed another kiss to Patrick’s mouth, hungry for just a little more. Then he clambered off the bed, shedding his remaining clothing as he dug through his bag for condoms and lube. When he came back, Patrick was gloriously naked as well, and Pete couldn’t help but stare for a moment at him—all creamy skin and curves, his hair mussed and sticking up with a flush still painting his cheeks. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed as he dropped them to the bed and crawled back up, hands settling around Patrick’s hips as he nuzzled and kissed and licked his way up from his waist. “You should stay naked forever.” 

 

“The law isn’t on your side for that one.” Patrick’s voice was low and teasing, but he gasped as Pete bit at his nipple, laving his tongue around it. “ _Fuck_ don’t stop.” Pete popped open the lube and squeezed a bit on his fingers and started gently caressing Patrick’s hole as he continued to pepper his chest with bites and licks and kisses. He felt like he would die from all the little noises Patrick was making as he gently slid a finger in him, a breathy _ahh_ and a low moan. He let him adjust, thumb gently caressing the skin of his taint and running along the underside of his balls. 

 

He could feel Patrick relax under him, and he murmured into his skin, “You okay? Should I stop?” 

 

Blue eyes opened as he shook his head and then Patrick was grabbing at him, pulling him up. “You’d better not.” His hand found Pete’s face, the other snaking down to wrap around his cock, untouched and leaking. “Kiss me.” 

 

Pete moaned and fell onto Patrick’s mouth, bucking his hips up into those slender, precise fingers, wrapped with perfect pressure around his cock and stroking him so perfectly he felt like he was on fire. “God, Patrick.” He slid another finger in gently and started to stroke and feather as he kissed him, searching for it…

 

With a cry, Patrick’s back ached and his fingers tightened compulsively around Pete’s cock as he found the spot deep inside him. “ _Fuck_ yes, oh—“ Pete grinned and bit into Patrick’s neck as he tucked in a third finger and began to set a rhythm with his thrusts. Patrick’s back was bowed as he rode his hand, his own grasp on Pete’s cock finding a tempo that had him groaning and gasping in time. 

 

Suddenly, he was being pushed off and onto his back. “Where are they?” Patrick was straddling his hips and feeling along the bed. Pete reached out and snagged a condom and handed it to him, unable to tear his eyes away from the picture of perfection currently on top of him. Patrick squeezed some slick onto his hands and ran it along Pete’s hard shaft, making him groan and thrust up. Smiling, he slid the condom on, giving the exterior another coating before he moved up, wiping his hand on the comforter as he positioned himself over Pete. “Ready?” 

 

It felt like his head moved of it’s own accord, and Patrick gave him another smile as he gently eased down. Their groans filled the room as he sank, slowly taking him in until he was buried to the hilt. Patrick moaned and leaned down to capture Pete’s mouth in another deep kiss, body adjusting and melting a little as their tongues slid again each other and Pete buried his hands in Patrick’s hair. After a long moment, Patrick pulled up a bit and sank back down, Pete felt like he was _dying_. 

 

“Oh my God, Patrick, _fuck.”_ Pete settled his hands on Patrick’s waist, thumbs caressing the soft skin over his hipbones as he started to move with intention, setting a rhythm that made every nerve on his body feel like it was on fire. Patrick leaned down a bit, settling his hand just above Pete’s shoulder and cried out as he moved, the new angle running the length of Pete’s shaft over his prostate. 

 

His eyes were fixed above Pete, blue and wide with the pupils blown. “Touch me.” He whispered and Pete’s hand jumped up to wrap around his cock. Patrick moaned as he started to move his hand, thumb swiping over the sensitive underside of the head with every upward tug. His legs started to tremble, his groans becoming punctuated with high-pitched whines and gasps. “Close, so close, Pete, I—“ 

 

“—God, yes.” Pete felt the familiar tightening in his gut as Patrick started to shake, the knowledge sending him nearly over the brink himself. “Come for me Patrick, God you’re so fucking gorgeous, please, wanna see you—“ 

 

Patrick’s eyes squeezed shut as he came with a wail, clenching tight around his cock and making him see stars as he followed, orgasm washing through him like a thundering storm. They rode it together, bodies shaking and sliding, pulling out every ounce of pleasure from the other. With a gasp, Patrick tumbled down and off, moaning as he pulled out and flopped to the bed beside him. They lay there for a long moment, curling around each other, Patrick gasping into his shoulder as they both came down. 

 

Carefully, Pete grabbed a t-shirt from his bag and wiped himself clean before pulling off the condom and dropping it and the soiled shirt to the floor. Patrick had a soft smile on his face as he pulled him close and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. 

 

“Would it be impolite of me to say _holy shit that was so good?”_  

 

Patrick laughed. “That’s totally vulgar and I’m completely okay with it.” Pete grinned and couldn’t help himself, he scooted back just a bit so he could see Patrick laying on his side, a blush painting his cheeks and a contented smile on his face. 

 

“God you’re so gorgeous.” He ran a gentle hand down Patrick’s chest, coming up to run down his arm, smiling at the gooseflesh that he left in his wake. “Seriously…hottest thing ever.” 

 

A low hum vibrated under his hand as Patrick shrugged and blushed. His smile was wide and _happy,_ and Pete couldn’t help but notice that he had lost the reserved, guarded edge to his expressions. He looked satisfied and content, and Pete decided he really liked the look on him. Patrick reached up and laced his fingers with Pete’s, holding them close to his heart. “So I guess the fact that we have some crazy chemistry in bed helps the whole dating thing, huh?” 

 

“Oh, hell yes!” Pete laughed and scrambled over to wrap his arms around his _holyshitboyfriend_ and pressed kisses all over his face and neck, making Patrick huff out a laugh. “God, like I totally want to do it again.” 

 

Pulling him close, Patrick kissed him deep and hungry. “Give me a couple minutes and we might be able to work something out.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've been dating for four months, and Patrick decides to break the silence about his condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me forever to update, friends! I just had a hard time with this chapter (wrote it three times!) because I really wanted to get it *right.* Hope you enjoy, and thanks for sticking with me! <3

 

 

He looked really good, Pete thought, sitting on the chair with the lights painting his skin a translucent shade of perfection, though that meant the blush was a bit more apparent. Blocky sunglasses perched on his nose, and his hands were moving just barely his lap, sweater pulled down over his wrists and his fingers rolling a small brown-and-ivory die around and around. Pete had given it to him on the taxi ride over, holding his hand gently as Patrick practically shook with nerves. 

 

 _Here._ His voice had come out low and he hoped it also sounded reassuring, steadying. _I got this for you before I came. I figured you could like, fiddle with it while you’re on the interview, to keep yourself from being too nervous._ He had placed the small cube in Patrick’s waiting hand, and he had tilted his head to see it. 

 

 _Thank you so much._ He had given Pete a genuine smile, unease still visible but gratitude right next to it, and began to spin it between his thumb and forefinger. _It’s an unusual color, where did you find it?_

 

 _A game shop._ He hoped fervently that Patrick would get it when he told him, that he wouldn’t think it was stupid or dumb. _I figured dice are supposed to be lucky, so I wanted you to have a bit of luck to go with you. But also it reminded me of us—brown and ivory—but I don’t think anyone else would get it, so it’s kinda like our secret code._

 

Patrick had chuckled a bit at that, but he nuzzled closer to Pete’s side and spun the die in his fingers, rolling it with his thumb. _I don’t know how you come up with this kinda stuff, but…thank you._ _For everything._

 

Now under the lights, Patrick looked calm, collected. Caroline had chosen for him a slate grey button-up, with a black tie and vest, and Patrick had acquiesced to her fashion choices, letting her help him with the buttons. He had put on a black cardigan and they had argued for a while about it, but Patrick had won in the end. Pete had just sat back and watched, grinning as the two formidable forces went head-to-head. But when it was over, he had gotten up and helped Patrick with his tie, unbuttoning the top button and adjusting the sleeves of the cardigan. 

 

 _Don’t want you to choke. I know I want to, ‘cause you look so good._ Patrick had blushed at that but smiled a silent thank you, before turning to Caroline for approval. She had selected his hat, placing it on his head after clambering up onto his bed so she could be tall enough, and pronounced he looked perfect. 

 

 _Can I have a kiss from my favorite girl?_ Patrick had given her his most endearing smile, and Pete could practically feel his insides melt from the force of it. But Caroline was unaffected, and simply grinned haughtily and kissed him on the cheek. 

 

Now the interview was about to start, the young lady who had met them earlier settling in to her chair. She was of Indian heritage, with wide eyes, high cheekbones and gorgeous caramel skin. Her smile was warm and comforting, and Pete wished fervently that Patrick could see it to calm him down. Leaning forward, she set a hand on his knee and said something soft that made him smile and nod, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders. Then she sat back, adjusted her microphone, and it began. 

 

“Hello everyone, I’m Amala Moore and with me today is two-time Grammy-winning producer, Patrick Stump, who most recently produced several tracks on Gym Class Heroes’ hit album _The Papercut Chronicles II_ and Yellowcard’s most recent single. Patrick, thanks for joining us today.”

 

“Thank you for having me.” He gave her a smile that looked heartbreakingly sincere, but Pete could see the nerves lurking just behind it. _Always so polite,_ he thought absently. 

 

“So how was it to work with Travis McCoy again? You two have been friends for a long time, right?” 

 

Bobbing his head, Patrick twirled the small die between his fingers. “It was great. Travie has such a great sense of rhythm and his lyrics are always so easy to work with. He’s every producer’s dream, really.” He laughed easily. “We tend to get distracted with side projects or eating endless batches of nachos sometimes, though, so it always takes us twice as long to get anything done.” 

 

Amala gave him a dazzling smile and they moved on to an easy assortment of topics—some of his favorite current songs on the radio, what he thought of Panic! At the Disco’s cover of Bohemian Rhapsody, a few questions on his upcoming projects and his preferred choice of donut—Dunkin or Krispy Kreme. Pete relaxed a bit as they fell into an easy rhythm but a voice in the back of his head reminded him that he knew it was coming, and he found himself bouncing on his toes in anticipation. 

 

“So Patrick, let’s talk for a moment about things that aren’t totally musical. You live in Brooklyn now, right? How has the adjustment to being a New Yorker been for you?” 

 

His laugh was easy, and the sound heartened Pete. “I’ll always love Chicago the best, and the fact that I far prefer deep-dish doesn’t earn me many points living here. But I really enjoy New York—the city is such a vibrant place with an incredible blend of cultures and people. It feels like every day could show you something new that you never even knew that you didn’t know.” 

 

“Well, I’m sure the New Yorkers will forgive your judgement of their pizza considering the music you give them. But beyond the adventure, you had other reasons for moving here, right?” 

 

He could see Patrick take a deep breath, and Pete was seized by the inordinate desire to just run out and wrap his arms around his boyfriend and protect him from the world. But he let it out carefully, shoulders settling into a confident angle that Pete knew was entirely artificial. “Yes, I…you know, I’ve never really been into the socialite aspect of the music industry, so I didn’t expect people to take notice when I kind of sequestered myself away in Oliver’s studio. But I just needed some time to…adjust to something that happened about a year and a half ago. There’s a genetic condition called LOHN’s—Leber Hereditary Optic Neuropathy. I guess I pulled the lucky card and had the right combination of chromosomes and developed it. It’s basically where your optic nerves swell to the point where the cells die rapidly with almost no warning. It usually hits somewhere between 15 and 35, and it got me last year. It was a really huge adjustment, obviously, to go from normal to legally blind in about two weeks, but I got through it with the help of some really great people.” 

 

Amala nodded with sympathy shining in her liquid brown eyes. “That must have been quite a shock for you—both personally and professionally.” 

 

“It was.” Patrick had his hands closed in his lap, fingers clenched around the die, but his face was calm, serene almost. “I thought for a while that it would kinda be the end of my life as I knew it. But my family really helped me refocus and my dad actually helped me find a bunch of production equipment that is really awesome when you can’t see what you’re doing. I had no idea there were such things out there, but I’m so grateful that it means I still get to produce and do what I love.” His lips quirked in a small grin. “And thankfully you don’t need your eyes to hear, so I get along okay.” 

 

“That’s certainly true, music is definitely not something you need to see to experience. So you said this happened over a year ago, what made you decide to talk about it now?” 

 

Pete was thunderstruck—this wasn’t a question that they had discussed, it wasn’t one on the list of questions that Patrick’s publicist had given to Amala. He took a step forward, ready to spring to Patrick’s defense. But the easy smile was still there, and there was something about his expression, like he knew a secret and was enjoying being the only one who knew it. 

 

“Well, my friend Oliver whose studio I work out of has been telling me very kindly to get over myself for a long time. He and his daughter have been incredibly supportive, almost like a second family to me in New York. But I also have someone who…came into my life and convinced me that it wasn’t as bad as I thought and that I didn’t have to let this define me. I think I was afraid somehow that people would see me as somehow _less_ now that I can’t really see, but they helped me realize that was really just my own fears talking. I guess you could say they helped me find my courage.” 

 

“That’s really lovely, Patrick. Is this person anybody we know?” 

 

His small expression blossomed into a full-out shy smile, tinged with smug satisfaction. “Maybe, but that’s a secret for another time. Can’t have too many revelations in one day, right?” 

 

She laughed and nodded. “Indeed, you have to keep the mystery alive. Well thank you so much for making some time to sit down with us today, Patrick. All of us here at Billboard wish you the very best.” 

 

“Thank you so much, Amala. It’s been really great.” 

 

Someone called _Cut!_ and the lights were shut off. Patrick slumped and sat back in the chair, pulling off his sunglasses to wipe at his eyes. Amala stood and spoke softly, and he took her hand with a smile and let her guide him backstage to Pete. 

 

“So are you the mysterious someone, Mr. Wentz?” Amala smiled as Pete reached out and took Patrick’s outstretched hand, pulling him close and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. 

 

“Maybe, maybe not.” He grinned irrepressibly and she laughed. 

 

“Well, take good care of him. Patrick, it was a pleasure as always.” They said their goodbyes and left the studio, slipping out of the chilly air and into a taxi, relaxing into the flow of traffic horns and the warmth of the cab. Patrick had his head on Pete’s shoulder and he was breathing deliberately, the die spinning between his fingers. 

 

“You did amazing.” Pete whispered into his hair, pressing a kiss to the silken strands. 

 

Reaching out, Patrick felt for and took Pete’s hand and squeezed. 

 

~//~

 

 _Four months_ , Pete thought as he opened the door to the bodega down the street and darted inside, fighting the wind. _It’s been a good four months._ It had been surprisingly _nice._ They hadn’t fought or been weird, no drama had arisen between them from the distance. Pete had chalked it up to them both being adults who loved their jobs and were both used to being alone. This whole long-distance thing—while he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish he could wake up next to Patrick every day—wasn’t so horrifying. He’d seen Patrick three times since they became official, and each time it had left him hungry for the next time that he could fall asleep wrapped up safe and warm. But they both knew—they knew their lives were crazy and full of commitments and late-nights, of jet lag and forgetting which day of the week it was, much less the timezone. On rare days that Patrick was in the studio and Pete had a day off, Patrick would open his phone and set it on the soundboard as he worked, Skype turned on so that Pete could just watch and feel close to him. It wasn’t horribly romantic, but it was just _nice._ He loved having Patrick to look over and talk to as he read or watched TV. Sometimes Patrick would play him little snippets of what he was working on and ask his opinion, and that made Pete’s heart feel like it was warm and molten. He _loved_ that Patrick was coming more and more out of his shell, that he was dropping some of the walls and barriers and letting Pete see _him_ much more often.

 

Scanning the rows of magazines, he saw the one he wanted and snatched up three copies. The press shoot had been two days ago, and he knew Patrick would be too nervous to come buy the magazine himself. Taking them up to the counter, he threw in a king-size packet of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for good measure and paid. Fighting the wind on the way back, he held in check the urge to look at the magazine, reasoning that the brisk weather would make it impossible. 

 

Once he was back to the studio, he said good morning to Oliver and Caroline, who were sitting at the table eating lucky charms. The little girl gave him a curious look as he walked in, but then her eyes widened as he handed her one of the _Billboard_ magazines. She dropped her spoon and rifled through until she came to the section devoted to Patrick. 

 

“Ooohh he looks so handsome! _Somebody_ picked out a great outfit for him.” She gave Pete a smug smile and he smiled back. 

 

“Someone sure did.” He winked and she giggled, stuffing another spoonful of cereal in her mouth as she returned her attention to the magazine. They were slowly becoming friends—the little girl who guarded her Uncle Patrick like a hawk had been wary of Pete at first, unsure if he deserved Patrick’s smiles. But eventually Pete’s laughter and jokes had won her over, helped along by a few whispered somethings in her ear from Patrick. He secretly wondered what she asked about him when he was gone, what she pestered Patrick about, and he resolved to ask at a later date. He traded Oliver a magazine for two steaming cups of coffee, and headed upstairs. 

 

Unsurprisingly, Patrick was still asleep, tangled in the blankets with just his face poking out of the mountain of sheets and comforter. Sitting down, Pete set the cups of coffee on the nightstand and gently shook him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

 

“Babe, wake up. It’s like 9:45.” Watching Patrick wake up somehow reminded Pete of ice melting. He would scrunch up his face like feeling was coming back painfully to his body, and then slowly start to move, unfurling like a caterpillar coming out of its cocoon.

 

“Oh my God.” Patrick groaned. “How are you sitting up this early?” 

 

Laughing, Pete pulled the covers back a bit. “I brought you coffee as penance.” Patrick cracked open an eye to look up at him and huffed. 

 

“Mpphhhh. Coffee.” He sat up a bit, leaning against the pillows and the headboard and took the steaming cup. Carefully, Pete crawled up the other side of the bed and sat down next to him, pulling Patrick close and grabbing his own cup from the nightstand. 

 

“Got you something.” Pete pulled the magazine from the nightstand and handed it to him. Patrick held it above him and squinted, trying to see as much as he could through his peripherals. 

 

“Well, at first legally-blind glance it looks good.” He set it down and took another long drink. “Did you look at it?” 

 

Shaking his head, Pete pressed a kiss to his scalp. “Not really. Caroline was devouring her copy downstairs but I figured I’d wait. Want me to read it to you?” 

 

“Would you?” Patrick’s voice sounded simultaneously hopeful and terrified, and Pete felt his heart swell that he got to be here. He got to share a bed and his heart with this amazing human being. 

 

“Of course.” Setting his now-empty mug down, he started to read. The article was well-laid out, with several beautiful pictures of Patrick—one with him playing a piano, a faraway look on his face, another with him smiling over the neck of a guitar, fingers poised on the strings looking like artwork. The one on the third page was his favorite—Patrick had been bashfully insistent that he wanted at least one picture without the glasses, so that people could see that he was still him, that LOHNs wasn’t scary. He was laying on his back, and all you could see was his smiling face and the paraphernalia around him—sheets of music, sunglasses, the tuning-pegged neck of a guitar, the white-and-red bundle that was his cane, and his fedora. It was a beautiful picture that seemed to shout _I’m different now but I’m still here!_ Patrick’s eyes were a gorgeous blue, lighting up his face, and Pete decided he was going to put that one in his wallet. 

 

When he finished reading the article, Patrick hummed against him, rolling over to carefully set his empty mug on the nightstand, feeling for where Pete’s was so the didn’t get knocked over. Moving back, he laid his head on Pete’s lap and sighed. “It’s not so scary, now that it’s out there.” Running his hands through Patrick’s hair, he gently massaged his scalp. “Thanks for…you know.” 

 

“I know, and I didn’t do anything. This was all you, and I’m so proud. All I did was a little bit of cheerleading.” 

 

Patrick laughed softly. “I could imagine you with pom-poms.” 

 

“Damn straight!” Pete laughed, but then froze as he heard the pounding of small feet coming up the staircase. 

 

“Uncle Patrick!” Caroline’s voice wafted upwards and Patrick froze. 

“Oh my god, Pete, I’m still _fucking naked under here!”_ His mind flashed back to the night before, Patrick quivering under him in the effort to stay silent as Pete swallowed down his orgasm, and he laughed helplessly as he crawled off the bed and towards the door.

 

“Caroline, hang on two seconds. Uncle Patrick needs to find his pants.”

 

Her voice was right outside the door as she let out an disgusted _Ewwwwww, gross!_ and Patrick made a choked sound from where he was standing stark naked in front of his dresser pulling on a pair of boxers. 

 

Life couldn’t be more perfect.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A morning with Caroline & Co...and Patrick reveals that he has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry its been forever since I updated this...I've been trying to figure out what to put between the last chapter and the next one (because I'm that loser who writes out of order and then gets into trouble!) But this is just a little dose of cuteness to get you through...so thank you for reading and for all your lovely comments, and I hope you enjoy!

A month after the magazine shoot, they were all sitting around the table eating breakfast. Well...three of them were--Pete, Caroline and Oliver were eating their various dishes of breakfast fare. Patrick was glaring behind his sunglasses into the cup of coffee he was cradling in his hands like his best friend. This was one of the great things about the Mission Sound family he’d somehow been lucky enough to become a part of, Pete mused...they could all just sit and brood in silence over bowls of oatmeal and cereal and toast. Nobody felt the need to necessarily fill the vacuum, but that wasn’t a bad thing, it seemed. It was comforting.

 

“You need to finish up, missy...school starts soon.” Oliver gave his daughter a look over his laptop screen, and she looked up from her book.

 

“No it doesn’t, it’s late start today, remember?”

 

Oliver looked at his phone. “Crap, you’re right.”

 

“Did you also forget it’s Storybook Dress-up Day?” Caroline gave him what could only be described as _the stink eye_ and Oliver rolled his eyes.

 

“Of course I did. What do you take me for, a grown-up?” She giggled and took another bite of cereal.

 

“Well, I want to do my hair in like Pippi Longstockings.” She looked over at Patrick. “Uncle Patrick, will you braid my hair and put coat hangers in it so it sticks out like you did for halloween?”

 

“--Mpphh.” Patrick coughed, still getting over the cold he’d come down with a couple weeks prior. He looked adorably sleep-drunk, in Pete’s professional opinion. “Uhhh...Caroline back then I could see, remember?”

 

“You can totally still do it!” She gave him puppy-dog eyes, and he tilted his head down to look at her and sighed. “Pleaseeeeeeee.”

 

Taking off his glasses, Patrick wiped a hand over his face and shook his head. “I’ll try. Your dad might have to help with the coat hanger part, though.”

 

“Uh, did _you_ forget what happened the last time I touched her hair?” Oliver laughed. “There’s a reason she’s asking you.” Patrick pursed his lips and made an irritated face.

 

“I can help.” Pete chimed in, and everyone at the table turned to look at him.

 

“You can do hair?” Patrick asked, sounding a bit dubious.

 

Pete grinned and stretched, putting his hands behind his neck. “Well, I didn’t say I was a pro, but I have a sister. My mom couldn’t _always_ do her hair so I’m sure if you tell me what we’re doing, I can figure it out.”

 

Caroline grabbed her smartphone and tapped a bit, before shoving it in Pete’s hands. “This is what it’s supposed to look like.” Pete looked at the picture, noticing the way the braids stuck straight out from the girl’s head in zig-zags.

 

“How in the _f_ \--” He stopped himself as Patrick cleared his throat loudly. “ _\--world_ do you get it to stick out like that?”

 

“Wire coat hangers.” Patrick took another sip of his coffee. “You twist the bottom into a spiral and put it next to her head, then braid around it.”

 

Pete looked at the picture again, and then at the little girl. “Well, let’s get started then! Do you have an outfit? Because I’m pretty sure Patrick has a striped shirt like this, it might even be clean.” The two of them put their dishes in the sink and scampered upstairs, Caroline yammering away about how she wasn’t sure _which_ pair of overalls was _just_ right...and Patrick shook his head as he took another sip of coffee.

 

“He’s a good one.”

 

“Huh?” Patrick set the cup down and looked at Oliver, head tipped down. “What?”

 

“Pete.” Oliver grinned at Patrick as he typed an email at lightning speed, pausing only to shovel another bite of oatmeal in his mouth. “You picked a good guy. I know Caroline took a while to come around to him, but I think he’s finally won her over. Which you know is always a good sign.”

 

There was a small, dreamy smile on Patrick’s lips as he took another sip, thinking. Pete _was_ a good guy. He’d been there when Patrick told the world about what had happened to him, he was always just a text or a call away...and even though they lived on the opposite sides of the country, Pete always made time for him, always made him feel like he was _included_ and important. Like he was part of his life, but he didn’t try to make Patrick change, he didn’t demand he move or do anything different. It was like he had said just before they kissed for the first time... _I’d just really love it if you let me be part of your life_ and he actually seemed to mean it. He acted like flying five hours and taking three subways to find Patrick buried in a song or curled up asleep in the little loft he stayed in above the studio was a _privilege_.

 

“I think you’re right.” Patrick mused, and then he heard Pete and Caroline screaming his name like they were in the middle of being murdered...if normal cries for help consisted of _come make me pretty Uncle Patrick!!_  Smirking, he downed the rest of his coffee and stood. “Wish me luck.”

 

Oliver laughed. “You’re definitely gonna need it!”

 

Twenty minutes later found Patrick standing behind Caroline, who was sitting on the sink, with Pete hovering around like an anxious hen. He was holding the coat hanger, which Patrick had carefully shaped so that it had a flat curlicue of wire at one end, with the rest straightened out as best they could. Patrick was brushing Caroline’s parted hair into a high pigtail on one side of her head. “Okay, now put the curlicue end in the middle, here.” Pete did as he was told, and Patrick carefully wrapped the hair around it and then started braiding. “Hold the end so it doesn’t poke me in the eye.” Patrick said as he carefully maneuvered the strands, and Pete took the end that was wobbling dangerously, smiling at Caroline in the mirror like they were conspirators. Repeating the process on the other side, Caroline soon had braids that stuck straight out from her head.

 

“Help me bend them up so they look like the picture.” She ordered, and Pete chuckled as he gently moved Patrick out of the way then helped her bend the braids so they curved up, looking like the girl in the photo. “Perfect.” Caroline declared, and gave Pete another grin before hopping off the sink, pausing only to give Patrick a quick hug before bounding down the stairs, yelling at her Dad as she went.

“She’s something else.” Pete laughed, and Patrick nodded, face scrunched up in a bit of concern.

 

“Did it look okay? I have no idea if I was even braiding it the right way…”

 

“Hey.” Pete cupped his hands around Patrick’s cheeks and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Quit putting yourself down, she looked awesome. Where did you learn to braid hair like that?”

 

“Caroline’s mom had a very singular personality.” Patrick smiled nostalgically. “That’s where she gets it from--Linda could literally have you scrubbing floors with a toothbrush and smiling while you did it if she wanted you to, and she _would_ do it. She decided someone had to be able to help with Caroline when it became very apparent Oliver would never be a girly dad.”

 

“What happened to her?” Pete had never asked because it had never really come up, but now he was curious about this phantom person who Took No Shit.

 

“She passed away a year and a half ago...breast cancer.” Patrick smiled sadly. “She was a hell of a woman. You should have seen her and Oliver...anyone else would have murdered her, but they were perfect together.” Pete started to say something, but he was interrupted by the sound of a small foot stamping at the bottom of the stairs.

 

 _“UNCLE PATRICK! PETE!_ Come down here, I want daddy to take a picture of us with my outfit!!!”

 

Rolling his eyes, Pete took Patrick’s hand as he laughed. “The Queen summons us,” he said wryly. “Better not keep her waiting.”

 

“I don’t even want to know what she’d do to us if we dared to do that.” Pete said, grinning, as together they headed downstairs.

  


~//~

  


Two weeks later, Pete was looking at the picture of him, Patrick and Caroline smiling, her hair curved in the ridiculous braids. He tapped a few times and made it his lock screen--it _was_ a damn good picture after all. But then it dissolved into the annoying beeping announcing that Patrick Stump wanted to FaceTime, and he swiped across the screen with a smile.

 

“Hey hot stuff.”

 

“ _Ewwwwww.”_ Caroline’s face peered out at him, and he jerked in surprise. “You’re gross.”

 

Eyes widening, Pete looked at the screen and tried to be mad, but realized he couldn’t quite find it in him. “Well yeah. But I thought it was Patrick calling, not you, goober breath.”

 

Rolling her eyes at the admittedly five-year-old level insult, Caroline’s stormclould face dissolved into smiles. “Well, whatever, I wanted to show you--”

 

“ _Caroline_! What are you doing!?” Patrick’s voice rang out, and Caroline’s eyes darted up and away as the phone’s camera moved, giving Pete a great view of the floor. “Who are you talking to, how did you get into my phone?” He could hear Patrick just barely over the noise of what was probably Caroline’s fingers over the speaker, and he couldn’t help but laugh as he imagined the contest of wills that was probably going on in the studio.

 

“Your passcode is just 9999, Uncle Patrick, it’s not _hard_ to figure out.” Caroline’s voice was defiant, but met with only silence. Pete could imagine Patrick giving her his _I’m disappointed_ look that was made no less severe by the fact that he couldn’t see. He heard a small sigh, and her voice was appropriately contrite when she spoke again.  “I’m sorryyyy....I just wanted to show Pete my art project from school, since he helped with my Pippi Longstocking hair….” Pete could practically _hear_ her giving Patrick the puppy dog eyes, and sure enough, he heard him sigh in return.

 

“ _Fine_ , but next time just _ask_ me before you start using my phone to call people, okay? That’s why you have your phone, and it’s not polite to use people’s property without asking permission. I know you know that.” There was a hint of steel in Patrick’s voice, understated and not at all angry, but commanding.

 

“Yes, Uncle Patrick.” Caroline sounded genuinely apologetic, and Pete smiled. Leave it to Patrick to be the only one to best the Queen of MIssion Sound. “Can I still show Pete what I made?”

 

“Go ahead.” Patrick said, and Pete was soon returned to seeing Caroline’s face. She was close to the camera, and he was almost going to tell her that he couldn’t see much more than her nose like this...But then she backed up, and they both came into view. Patrick was sitting in his rolling chair at the soundboard, looking exasperated and more than a little disheveled in what looked like Yoda pajama pants and a faded 504 Plan shirt. Pete couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at seeing his boyfriend, but then Caroline dominated once again.

 

“Okay so you know how you helped me do my hair for book day?” She didn’t pause for Pete to answer but barreled ahead, taking a piece of paper from next to where the phone was probably perched on the low coffee table. “Well our assignment was to draw our family into the story that we were for school, so I drew us all into Pippi Longstocking, see?” She held up a large piece of paper and Pete saw four characters holding hands--one was unmistakably Caroline with her red braids stuck out of her head at odd angles...but next to her was a tall man who Pete guessed was her father, and...Pete squinted as she explained. “See there’s you and Uncle Patrick, and me and Daddy, and Mommy’s up here. She’s an angel.” Pointing to the upper left corner where a figure with long red hair was hovering over them, she smiled. “I got an A.”

 

“That’s really awesome, dude.” Pete tried to say more past the lump in his throat, but he couldn’t quite work the words out. Coughing once, he shook his head and smiled. “I love it. Have your dad take a picture of it and send it to me, okay? I totally want it as my computer wallpaper.” Caroline grinned and nodded her head manically.

 

“Okay. I’m going to go now so you can be gross with Uncle Patrick. Bye.” And without so much as another glance, she was barreling out of the room, leaving Patrick looking adorable with a wry grin on his face.

 

“I guess I need to change my passcode, huh?” He ran his hand through his hair and Pete laughed.

 

“Maybe so.” He took a screenshot and hoped that Patrick hadn’t picked up on the sound from where he sat...he couldn’t help but need to preserve this adorable sleepy, slightly-annoyed Patrick. “What are you up to today?”

 

Groaning, Patrick slumped back in the chair. “I was up crazy late working on the new Paramore track, and now I’m up wayyyy too early to finish it.” Glancing at his watch, Pete snorted.

 

“Umm...you know its like 12:30, right?”

 

“Yeah, like I said, way too early.” Patrick huffed. “I just went to get some coffee and I left my phone here. Didn’t think she’d swipe it like that, I’m sorry if she bothered you.”

 

“She’s _definitely_ not a bother, are you kidding me? I think I teared up for a minute there.” He smiled even though he knew Patrick probably couldn't see it. “Plus I got to see you so it’s awesome.”

 

He only hummed in response, but Pete could see the blush staining his cheeks. “Well...I’m glad. She was very proud of that picture. I guess the teacher called concerned about her drawing her family with three guys, and Oliver told her off. Said families come in all shapes and sizes and who the fuck was she to judge.” He ran his hand through his hair again and huffed out an amused croak of a laugh. “Sometimes I forget how fiery he can be, too. Caroline never had a chance.” Smiling, Pete opened his mouth to launch into a story about fiery women, but Patrick kept talking. “I really want to talk to you more, I have something I want to run by you, but I have to get this track finished. Can I call you tonight? Are you going to be busy?”

 

Closing his mouth with a snap, Pete shook his head then caught himself. “No that’s fine. I’m grabbing dinner with some of the label people and Bebe but that’ll be over by like 8 or so.”

 

“Perfect.” Patrick stood and carefully walked over to the table. He raised his head and looked for the phone, treating Pete to an up-close view of his nostrils. “Thanks babe, I’ll talk to you tonight.”

 

They said goodbye, and Pete slipped his phone back into his pocket with a stupid grin on his face. He would never get tired of hearing Patrick call him _babe._

 

~//~

 

True to his word, Patrick called him that night around 9:30pm during his mindless surfing of the internet while half-watching _The Voice._ Adam Levine and Blake Shelton were a match made in heaven, if you asked him.

 

“Before I tell you gross things, is this Patrick or Caroline?” Pete teased and he heard Patrick laugh.

 

“Caroline would be dead meat if she was up this late.” He replied, his voice filling Pete’s heart up with honey and liquid gold. “Should I be worried about what _gross things_ you’re going to say?”

 

“Nah.” Pete muted the TV and stretched, putting Patrick on speaker. “I just answered the phone _Hey Hot Stuff_ earlier and she was not amused. How’s the track?” They talked for a while, Patrick played him a snippet of the chorus that had been refusing to come out _right_ until about an hour ago. Pete told him about dinner with the label people, and that he had managed to only make one of them turn bright red with a slightly-off color joke that had Bebe rolling with laughter.

 

“So what did you want to run by me?” Pete asked finally, when he noticed Patrick being slightly less-talkative than normal. The line was silent for a moment, and the vague sense of unease he had been suffering through since Patrick said he _had something to tell him_ earlier exploded. He felt his heart clench with the familiar anxiety attack--was this when Patrick figured out that Pete was more trouble than he was worth, that he was so much less talented than Patrick always told him he was, that--

 

“Well, I’ve been thinking…” Patrick started, and Pete frantically tried to remember the breathing pattern his therapist had taught him. “You…you’re really good for me and even though I think sometimes I’m more of a burden than I’m worth for you, you never complain.” Pete could practically feel his heart pick itself up from his toes and start to beat normally again as Patrick cleared his throat and pressed on. “I...it’s so awesome when you come here, Oliver and Caroline love having you here, but I’ve been thinking that ever since the shoot I just…” There was silence for a moment, and Pete was quite proud of himself for biting his tongue and letting Patrick have a minute. Very mature of him. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my life before this happened to me, and then how things have been with you and...I want to start _living_ again, you know? And you make me feel brave, so I figured that would be a good place to start so...I was going to book a flight out to Chicago. To see you. If you’d want that, that is.” He added quickly, and Pete decided now would be a good time to pick his jaw up off the floor and do that thing he was so good at.

 

“Oh my God _yes_.” He felt a huge grin split his face and he sat up, feeling like he needed to be upright for a moment this huge. “Are you serious? Like...flying by yourself, you’re good with that?”

 

“Well, millions of Americans do it every day, so I figure I can _probably_ manage.” He could hear the smirk in Patrick’s voice, but then it was gone. “When are you going to be back in town? I don’t want to make you drop anything you’re doing--”

 

“I’ll be back there the ninth.” Pete said. “I already have my tickets and everything. It’s my mom’s birthday, I was gonna surprise her.” A thought struck him. “Would you--and hey you can tell me if this is too much and it’s totally fine, I promise--but would you want to come with me? My sister’s throwing her a little party and stuff, nothing fancy.” He held his breath, already mentally berating himself for probably throwing Patrick into a fit over not only flying blind and alone for the first time, but now also meeting _his family_. “You know what, don’t worry about it, it’s alright, I’ll--”

 

“Yes.”

 

Pete’s floundering attempt at taking the offer back as gracefully as he could came to a screeching halt. “Huh?”

 

“I said yes. I’d love to meet your family.” He searched for a note of apprehension or falseness in his tone, but couldn't find any...Patrick sounded as genuine as ever.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes really. I told you...you make me feel brave, so why not jump in with both feet?” There was a shuffling noise through the phone, and Patrick’s voice came back closer and clearer. “Send me your flight details and I’ll have Oliver help me book something that matches up.” He couldn't help the huge grin that was spreading across his face as he flopped back onto the couch, suddenly overwhelmed with the news. Patrick was _coming here_ and he was _going to meet his family._ “Please tell me you didn’t fall asleep or something.” Came Patrick’s voice, and he scrambled to find his voice.

“No, I’m sorry I’m just...so fucking stoked, you have no idea. We’re going to have a blast and this is like a million times better than what I was expecting you to tell me.”

 

“What were you expecting?” Patrick’s voice was far away again, Pete guessed he was upstairs putting on his pajamas.

 

“I dunno. My head always goes to the worst case scenario. Maybe Caroline convinced you that I’m actually the worst person in the world or something.” He heard Patrick laugh out once, sharply.

  
“She tried, believe me. But she actually really likes you now, if you couldn’t tell by the impromptu phone call.” There was shuffling and then he sighed into the phone. “Ahhhh...bed. Lonely without you but still so wonderful.”

 

Pete felt something warm curl around his stomach at Patrick’s casual hint that he missed him, and he found himself wishing for approximately the 9,344 time since they started seeing each other than he could crawl into bed with his gorgeous boyfriend every night. “Well, I promise I’m not a total teenager and I actually have a decent apartment with a bed in Chicago so...just look forward to that, okay?”

  
His voice was low and full of a promise as Patrick hummed into the phone. “I can’t wait.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick's first plane ride since going blind, and meeting The Mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I hope you're having a lovely day, and thanks for dropping by! I'm sorry for the long time since I updated this, but as I told the incredible snitchesandtalkers, this is my comfort story, the one I write because it's like a pot of honey I dip into when I want some happiness. I know that's kinda odd, considering I made Patrick blind, but it's the truth. Anyways, hope you enjoy this update, and thank you for reading!!!!

  
Pete was bouncing on his toes, wondering if he concentrated really hard if he’d be able to open the security checkpoint doors with his mind. It was a tempting challenge that occupied him for about fifteen seconds until the doors swooshed open (admittedly making his attempts at Jedi Mind Control useless) and someone walked out who wasn’t Patrick.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where he was...his plane had landed fifteen minutes ago according the O’Hare flight tracker that he had not been checking compulsively for the last two hours. Okay, who was he kidding...the only flight Patrick had been able to find without a million layovers landed late, so he had been checking its progress since he had touched down at noon. The doors swooped open and he steeled his heart all over again...

Except there he was, one arm anchored to the arm of a bored-looking woman wearing an Airport Polo as his red-tipped cane tap-tap-tapped along in front of him.

“Patrick!” He felt a small thrill shoot through him as Patrick’s expression went from one of guarded caution to joyfulness at the sound of his voice. He murmured something to the woman and she shrugged, moving away as Patrick let go of her arm and reached his hand out, pulling the cane close. Pete’s hand fit perfectly into his own and he couldn’t help but pull him into a hug that felt like it was full of things like home and finally and safe. “Hey you.” Pete pushed down the desire to press a kiss to those lips, satisfying himself with the way he felt warm and solid in his arms.

“Hey yourself.” A small smile tucked up the corners of Patrick’s mouth, promising things he couldn’t wait to cash in on in the privacy of his apartment and Pete reveled in the way Patrick’s hand felt curving around his arm as they started to walk towards the exit. “Missed you.”

“Me too, you have no idea.” He stopped, unsure. “Uh, did you check a bag?”

He nodded. “Figured it’d be easier that way than trying to lug it through the airport and use the cane.” He let out a short, huffing laugh. “It’s black and apparently has a bright pink Powerpuff girls scarf tied to the handle, courtesy of Caroline.”

Pete laughed and squeezed the pale hand that seemed to fit perfectly into the crook of his arm. “Don’t lie, it’s totally out of your closet.”

“Caught me. Pink’s my favorite color.”

~//~

 

The door opened with a click and Pete swung it open. “There’s a bit of a step up.” He helped Patrick through and then motioned to the room--he had blocked out how many steps to each item of furniture and cleared as much space as possible the day before in preparation. “So there’s a couch four steps to the left, and if you follow the wall to the right you’ll get to the kitchen, it’s five--”

He was cut off by the sound of Patrick kicking the door shut, fingers sliding along it’s surface until they reached the handle, turning the lock into place. He turned and reached out tentatively for Pete’s arm, head canted upwards as he looked for him, a teasing quirk to his lips.

“How about if you can lead me to the bedroom in one piece I’ll let you give me the full tour later.”

“Oh that I can do.” Pete took both his hands and walked backwards to the bedroom, leading him along like they were headed to a dance floor. They tumbled to the bed together and Pete heaved a sigh as he took his face in his hands, murmuring hey boyfriend against his lips. Patrick hummed back, reply lost as their mouths fit together like something that was meant to be, if Pete was being really honest. Fingers scrabbled at belts and boxers were pushed down and then Pete was swallowing down Patrick’s gasp as his fingers danced around his cock with the barest whisper of pressure.

“Fucking…” Patrick let out a low groan as Pete wrapped his hand firmly around him, giving him a single, languorous pump as he pressed his mouth wetly to the pulse at his neck. “Do something Pete, please.”

Grinning at the desperate sound of his voice, Pete slid down and took him in his mouth, willing to do practically anything at the moment to get Patrick singing his name and making those breathy little sighs that made him harder than a board. So he did all the things he knew Patrick liked--feathering his fingers just so inside him, stroking his balls with his other hand and tugging them gently away from his body as he sucked upward. When Patrick’s gasps took on the quality he knew from the last eight months of glorious exclusivity meant that he was close, he pulled off and slicked himself up with lube as he pressed sharp, biting kisses to Patrick’s hips and the gentle indent of his groin. He worked his way up to his neck, pressing his cock to his entrance and smiling at the way Patrick wriggled to get closer. “How was your flight, babe?”

“--nggghh?” Patrick’s sigh turned questioning as he made a face, tilting his head to ineffectually glare at him. “Seriously? Sex now, talking later.” He wriggled his hips again like it would suddenly remind Pete of what he was supposed to be doing, but he wasn’t biting. He was feeling like a bit of an asshole in the best way.

“Please? It was your first flight alone, I’m so fucking proud of you.” He teased, pressing against him them slipping back, letting his slicked cock rub against Patrick’s and groaning with him. “Just tell me a little bit.”

An annoyed look crossed Patrick’s face, as he wrapped his legs around Pete’s waist, urging him in. “Fine, a very nice young man walked me to my--fuck.” He gasped as Pete slid inside, just breaching the tight muscle and pushing in with infinite slowness.

“You fucked the nice young man?” Pete asked when he had bottomed out, proud of himself for keeping the lust-crazed edge out of his voice. He had no idea what hearing Patrick’s voice strained and frustrated would do to him as he gasped out no, I didn’t. He shook his head in emphasis, arching into him and groaning, hands opening and closing against the comforter as his body adjusted to the intrusion. Leaning down, Pete kissed him deep and hard the way he knew he liked, lips sliding wetly against each other as he licked the plush softness of his lower lip. “What happened next?”

“I--I got to go on the plane first.” Patrick answered, the sentence ending in a stuttered intake of breath that made shivers go down Pete’s spine as he pulled out to thrust back into him gently.

“Yeah? C’mon babe, you can do it, tell me the rest.” He knew he was being a jerk, he knew he should just concentrate on making Patrick come screaming his name, but God if he didn’t love the way he sounded as he struggled to keep his sentences coherent and speak through the way he was being gently fucked just the way he liked.

“I--” Patrick moaned and arched up into him, hands scrabbling at his shoulder blades. “--my seat was--fuck--near the front.” He pulled Pete down, feeling for his face and fitting their mouths together so he could push into his mouth with his tongue. Breaking away for air, Pete pressed his forehead to Patrick’s neck and tried to stop himself from rutting into him like there was no tomorrow, digging deep for the self-control to keep up his slow thrusts. “--and they asked me--oh my god--if, if I wanted something to drink.” He swallowed and Pete could feel his throat working, the way the muscles constricted then relaxed. The familiar coil of pleasure built in his gut and he decided it was time to see who would beg first. Speeding up, he urged Patrick on, starting to moan without shame as he moved faster, avoiding the angle he knew would drive them both over the edge. He felt Patrick suck in a breath as he just brushed his prostate and the words fell from him. “Then the plane took off and ohmygodPetefuckmeorIswearI’llbeatyouwithmycane.”

Unable to keep up the pretense any longer--but totally filing it away for later--he nodded into Patrick’s neck and tucked his legs up underneath himself and moved.

Just like he did in all of the fantasies that Pete had tumbled over and over in his head right there in his bed during the lonely nights, Patrick gasped as he hit his prostate, back arching in a perfect bow. His mouth fell open, lips shining and swollen as he let out a perfect high G note as Pete pounded into him, ignoring the way his body was practically screaming at him to let go, determined to see Patrick there first. His hand twitched down to where his cock was trapped between their bodies, rock hard and straining against his fingers. Little whines fell from his lips as he curled up into Pete, like he was leaning into the wind that was trying to bowl him over.

“Petepetepete--” he gasped out, eyes shooting open sightlessly for a split second as the wave hit him, then he was tumbling over with a final twist of the wrist, shooting hot and endless between them as he keener with a musicality that always blew Pete away. His own noises were far less melodic, but he still saw stars as he thrust, thrust, thrust...there.

Tumbling down, he curled around Patrick, gasping into the sweaty hollow of his collarbone as they both came down. He grabbed his t-shirt to wipe them clean when Patrick started twitching at the cooling mess before poking and prodding and being a general annoyance to get them both under the covers, despite his boyfriend’s protestations that it was criminal to try to make him move. But finally, he pulled the lamp cord and they were settled into the darkness with Patrick pressed warm and perfect against him, fingers tracing soft patterns over his skin.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that right?” Patrick mumbled into his shoulder, and he laughed.

“I know, I’m sorry…” He turned and looked down at his boyfriend in the dim illumination of the crack in the curtains, all creamy skin and peaceful features with no real ire. “It was just...hot. Hearing you and…yeah.” Shrugging, he ran his fingers through the fine strands of his cinnamon hair, smiling at the way Patrick moved into it just slightly.

“Think it...made it better when it happened, you know? Having to try to think and stave it off.” Patrick yawned and felt for his hand, twining their fingers and nestling them against his heart. “You owe me some romancing, though. Like, we’re talking roses and candles kind of shit.”

“You’re giving me permission to release my inner romantic? Adventurous of you.” He sighed in contentment and pressed a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “No but seriously...I’m so fucking glad you’re here, and I really am so proud of you.”

Patrick just hummed, but he could feel his lips curving into a smile against his chest.

  
  
~//~

 

It was a perfectly crisp Novemeber day in Chicago, a rare one that wasn’t buffeted with icy blasts of wind that made all living things scurry for cover. Patrick’s hand was warm in his own as they walked along the pier, the grey choppy water a humming backdrop to the bustling in and out of the shops. Reaching their destination, Pete bounced a bit on the balls of his feet until Patrick poked him and reminded him good seeing eye dogs are focused.

“Sorry. ‘Kay, but on to the important bit--what kind of funnel cake do you want?” He eyed the board, reminding himself he had to be Patrick’s eyes. “They have regular or chocolate, and you can get lemon sugar, raspberries or chocolate syrup on top.”

“What do you like?” Patrick asked as he readjusted his hand in the crook of Pete’s elbow.

“Chocolate with chocolate syrup and raspberries.”

“Why am I not surprised.” Patrick chuckled. “I’ll get regular with raspberries.” Pete ordered for them, and told him some of the details of their upcoming European tour while they waited. When they were handed their funnel cakes piping hot and delicious-smelling, Pete guided him to a bench, helping him get settled. Silence fell as they tucked into their treats, and Patrick hummed happily. “This is so fucking good.”

“Right?” Pete scooted closer, before realizing a critical flaw in his plan. “So people watching is way less fun when you can’t see the people, huh?”

Chewing, Patrick shrugged. “You could describe them...but you’re really the people I’m here to see, figuratively speaking, after all.”

That made warmth blossom in Pete’s chest that made him grin like a maniac and be momentarily glad Patrick couldn’t see him. “Dawwwhhh.” He opined, taking the elbow in the ribs good-naturedly and settled more comfortably next to him. “I’m really fuckin’ glad you’re here, seriously.”

“Me too.” Patrick’s hand found his and squeezed and he sighed before launching into a whispered description of the hippy couple wearing what he could only surmise were clothes made of tofu by-products that had Patrick trying vainly to hold in his laughter. Then he gave him a blow-by-blow of the muscled guy trying to make baskets to impress his much-taller girlfriend, and told him about the family whose hair was each a different color--the father’s blue, the kid’s green and the mother’s purple.

“Ready to go?” He asked when they had finished their cakes and his phone buzzed with the alert that the party started in an hour. Patrick nodded and swiped at his face.

“I’m not covered in powdered sugar, am I? That’s not how I want to meet your mom, looking like I just did a line of cocaine.” Pete laughed, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth where there had previously been a smudge of white.

“All clean.” Shaking his head as Pete stood, Patrick took his arm and tucked himself into his side. He was much happier when he didn’t need to use his cane, Pete knew, and he definitely would never turn down an opportunity to have his boyfriend snugged against his side. As they walked in easy silence, Pete reflected that Patrick had gotten to be a lot...calmer wasn’t the right word. He was still passionate, fiery even when they talked about music or Ghostbusters or the comparative influcences of Prince and David Bowie on pop culture. But in the times when Patrick wasn’t fired up, he was...more at ease. The walls were still there, he was still a reserved individual whenever they were out and about. But in private, he was more apt to smile widely, to explode into laughter at one of Pete’s jokes, to whisper dirty things in his ear than he had been in the early days of their relationship. The change both made Pete’s heart warm and made him feel like they were something good.

Helping Patrick into the car and accepting his murmured thanks, he rounded the front and slid into the drivers seat. “Ready to do this?”

“As long as you remind me of everyone’s names one more time, yes.”

 

~//~

 

His mom’s house smelled the same as he pushed open the front door, transporting him back instantly to his childhood of skinned knees and an abundance of angry metal played at ear-splitting volume. He helped Patrick through the entryway and took his coat as he called out hello.

“Pete, baby!” His mother swept into view, hair coiffed on the top of her head with an intriguing-looking clip, and pulled him in for a hug. “Oh, don’t you look wonderful, now let me me look at you for a minute!” She pulled away to look him up and down before breaking into a smile and pulling him into another hug. “That’s my boy, handsome as ever. And this must be Patrick!”

“Hello, ma’am.” Patrick smiled, his plush lips tucking up a the corners as he held his hand out tentatively. Familiar enough with his expressions, Pete could see the nerves plain on his face as his mother reached out for his hand.

“So lovely to meet you, sweetheart! Hope you don’t mind, but we’re a hugging kind of family.” Not waiting for a reply, she pulled him into one of her all-encompassing hugs. Patrick’s smile took on a surprised glint but softened at the edges as she tuttered over him. “Pete’s told me so much about you, it’s just the best birthday gift in the world to meet you! Now come in, come in. Pete, make sure he doesn’t trip on anything honey, I told the kids to keep it clean but you know how they are--”

“Now you see where I get my magical powers of talking from.” Pete whispered as he guided him into the kitchen, where the most inviting smells beckoned, and Patrick just laughed.

Twenty minutes later found them sitting at the table talking with Pete’s sister, who was filling Pete in on the family gossip. Patrick was tracing lazy patterns on the back of Pete’s hand, before a tumbling sound came from the staircase and a pre-teen boy fell into the kitchen.

“Oh my god you’re really him!” Pulling the chair out next to them, he plopped down and started gesturing wildly with his hands. “I can’t believe Uncle Pete is actually dating someone cool!”

“Hey! Are you saying I’m not cool?” Pete whined good-naturedly, and the kid shook his head.

“No way, Uncle Pete, your music is way too mainstream. But oh my god, Patrick your stuff is amazing, your remix of the Neon Trees album is the greatest thing in the world.”

Smiling with his cheeks painted a dusky hue, Patrick held his hand out. “Thank you, that’s really nice of you to say. And you are…”

“Oh, I’m Damien, sorry, I just can’t believe Uncle Pete like even knows you, like you’re seriously the coolest person in the world.” Damien paused for a quick breath as Dale sailed into the room. “I seriously want to be like just like you when I grow up, everyone says you're the greatest producer ever, and being a producer is _way_  cooler than being a musician I think, I--”

“Pete, honey, could you help me put the leaf in the table?” Dale called from the other room, and Pete stood, not before whispering in Patrick’s ear I’ll be right back. He just nodded, already deep into talking to Damien about music and Mumford and Sons. Stepping into the dining room, Pete gave his mom a look.

“The leaf is already in the table, mom.”

“Oh, well would you look at that, so it is.” She pulled a chair out and motioned for him to join her. Sliding in, he steeled himself for what he hoped was the only cross examination of the night. Instead, she smiled as she took his hand. “I really like him, honey.”

“Yeah?”

Dale nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “He seems like a lovely young man, and so strong too overcoming what happened to him.” She fixed him with what he had come to call the mom look. “But what I like more than that is the way you smile when you’re around him. It’s good to see you so happy.”

Pete couldn’t hold back the smile as he nodded. “Yeah...he’s...he’s really amazing mom. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone.”

She gave him a mischievous smile. “Well, at least not since second grade when you had that crush on Millie Spencer.”

“Oh my God, I swear you’re going to bring that up at my wedding too, aren’t you?”

“You never know.” She smirked. “Are you saying there’s going to be a wedding? To Patrick?”

Unable to help the dreamy look on his face, Pete shrugged. “I don’t know...but if everything stays this good and he doesn’t turn out to be like, a blind axe-murderer or something...maybe.”

Squeezing his hand, Dale leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek in the comforting way only a mother could. “I like the sound of that, baby.” She stood and smoothed his hair down, just for him to fluff it back up. “Now come on. Let’s not leave him to Damien too long.” She winked. “Don’t want to scare him off.”

~//~

 

Pete fell gasping against the sheets as he tried desperately to remember how to make his limbs move where he wanted them as the remnant of his orgasm thundered through him. He cracked open an eye to catch the way Patrick was shaking, hands opening and closing with decreasing frequency into the sheet, and he sighed.

“Romantic enough for you?” Curling into him, guided by the sound of his voice, Patrick nodded.

“I forgive you for being a jerk yesterday.”

Smiling contentedly to himself, he pulled Patrick close and felt vaguely proud of himself. While he hadn’t quite gone full rose petals and candles romantic, he had put on some soft jazz and given Patrick a massage that had him melting into the bed before it turned more...intimate. He had kneeded the supple plushness of his ass, fingers venturing nearer and nearer until he had pulled his cheeks apart and eaten him out until Patrick was simultaneously fucking the mattress and nearly begging Pete to fuck him. Which he had been more than happy to do, pressing soft, languorously deep kisses to his mouth and swallowing his cries as he ground into him, rubbing gentle fingers around the head of his shaft. Just before Patrick had tumbled over the edge, he had pulled out and taken his rock hard cock in his mouth, sucking him with all his best tricks until Patrick had come with a melodic whimper that made him nearly blow his own load on the spot. Instead he had just crawled up to claim his heaving breaths, pressing their mouths together as he made quick work of his rock-hard cock, shooting thick white ropes over his soft stomach.

“I’m just glad you let me do things to you, considering how cool you are and all.”

Patrick’s laugh was honey-sweet and warm, sinking into his bones and making him feel like he had sunshine coursing through him. “Still hung up on that, huh?”

“Not hung up on it…” Pete shrugged, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “You totally deserve it, because he’s right, you are pretty much the coolest person in the world.” He pulled away to look down at his boyfriend’s contented face and felt his heart clench all over again that this incredible man had let him into his life and his heart. “It just means the Patrick Stump Fan Club is gonna have to make some more T-shirts for the growing number of fans.”

A snort came from the bed’s other occupant and Patrick rolled his eyes, a habit he maintained even though he couldn't see. “I don’t think a whole two fans is necessarily a burgeoning organization, but I’ll take it.” A gentle hand drifted up Pete’s arm to his face, pulling him down for a lazy kiss. “You’re my favorite fan, though. Don’t tell Damien.”

“Your secret is safe with me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!!! I'm so sorry its been *so* very long since I updated this...I've had this chapter 1/2 written forever, but I guess I just got too busy with other things and I guess it's easy to feel like nobody remembers your favorite stories like you do. But the lovely @slothlover42 messaged me on tumblr and gave me the oomph to finish this! So thank you for reaching out, my friend, and here's a bit more! I promise I'll never stop writing this one until it's done...this is my favorite story, even if I don't update very frequently. <3

 

 

“Caroline, do you have your coat?” Patrick hollered as he pulled on his boots. “It’s cold out there.” 

 

“Yep.” A clomping noise thundered down the stairs. “I’m not  _ dumb _ , Uncle Patrick.” 

 

“Nobody’s saying that, kiddo.” He admonished with a smile, sitting back as he heard her footsteps nearing. “Well, I’m ready. Everyone else good to go?” 

 

“Hang on, just making the last sandwich!” Pete yelled from the kitchen, slathering peanut butter on a final piece of bread like a real mom, if he did say so himself. Slipping the sandwich into a brown paper bag, he paused to scrawl on its front, just like he had for the other two. Oliver flew by in a flurried explosion of harried confusion, pausing to give him a thumbs-up around the bagel stuffed in his mouth. 

 

“Thanks so much for this, dude. I owe you both.” 

 

“Don’t even worry about it.” Patrick made a dismissive gesture as he entered the kitchen, Caroline trotting in a moment later appropriately bundled up and looking like a small pink bundle of coats and scarves. “It’s gonna be a ton of fun. I think I’m more excited than she is.”

 

“Alright.” Oliver crouched down for a hug from his daughter. “You be good on your grand adventure in faraway Queens, okay?” 

 

“Duh.” She replied with a roll of dark eyes and they all couldn’t help but snicker just a bit. Then it was the stamping pull of boots on feet, lunches in backpacks and keys in locks...and Mission Sound was left bereft of life as they headed out, faces tucked into scarves to ward off the wind. 

 

~//~

 

Jumping out of the taxi, Pete turned to help Caroline out, but she was already squirming past him in an effort to ogle at the huge building. Patrick was handing the driver a ten and a twenty dollar bill with a smile before scooting towards the open door, hand outstretched to feel for the frame. Grabbing it gently, Pete helped him from the cab, heartwarming at the small smile that flitted across Patrick’s lips as he murmured a soft  _ thanks _ before taking his arm like it was natural. “Where’s Caroline?” 

 

“Just up ahead.” He replied, leading him around a large potted plant and towards their charge. “Don’t worry, we won’t lose her.” 

 

“I’m just glad one of the adults can see.” Patrick laughed as Caroline came running back to them, prattling at a hundred miles an hour about the size of the building and Pete was caught up in a moment of gratitude as they walked towards the entrance. Not that he was trying to be vain or anything...but he was damn proud of Patrick. When they had first met, it had been nothing but staying in the Mission Sound space, or along well-defined routes of comfort that he knew well enough to venture into. But recently he had started to trust himself more--he had just come back from a weeklong trip to LA to speak at a music production symposium. Pete had been flush with pride as he watched the youtube videos of him standing behind the podium in a smart suit looking like a million bucks as he discussed soundboard evolution and emerging technology for post-production. He had cursed their awful timing that he’d already been booked for a show in Denver and not been able to attend, but he’d listened to Patrick’s gushing excitement at how well his talk had been received and felt pride curl in his chest at how amazing his boyfriend was. 

 

It wasn’t just his courage at traveling and getting back into the industry after years of seclusion...it was the way he seemed to let Pete closer, in little ways. The easy acceptance of his hand, almost like Patrick had decided to believe that it’d be there when he reached for it, had been a thrill when he’d realized that he had actually earned that trust. Patrick’s shell kept falling off, a bit at a time, and he loved it. He loved seeing him smile widely, laugh with his head thrown back at something stupid Pete would say. His favorite was when Patrick would call him--without the ever-cautious  _ are you busy?  _ text preceding the phone ringing--and blather on about something he had found or done and had him in a thrall of excitement. That unguarded, authentically overwrought excitement made him feel happiness deep in his bones because it was so  _ Patrick _ . Snapping back to reality as Caroline tugged ineffectually at the giant glass doors held closed by the wind, he smiled as he pulled it open and ushered them through. 

 

“Whoaaaa.” Came her stunned exclamation, and he could feel a similar feeling on his own lips. The place was  _ huge. _ “Oh my gosh, there’s a space section! Let’s go there first.” 

 

“This is why you’re my favorite girl, Caroline.” Patrick grinned as Pete began walking them that way, narrating as they went what he saw. It had been a strange thing at first, simply because his whole life it seemed like he’d been told to  _ stop talking _ , his endless prattle annoying and distracting to others. But with Patrick, once he had gotten over his ingrained habit of  _ not _ saying everything that came to mind, it had been easy, it had been  _ awesome  _ to get to tell everything that came to mind about what was around them to an eager listener. 

 

“The walls are crazy cool, they’re like those glass bricks, you know? The clear wavy ones, and then there’s stone around each so it's like a glass grid. Looks like there’s a space exhibit, a science playground, a light exhibit,  _ and an angry birds exhibit oh my gosh!”  _ He heard Patrick’s chuckled laugh at that. 

 

“Well, now I know where you’re going to revert to a five year old.” 

 

“You’d better believe it.” 

 

~//~

 

Hours later, they were on the subway, trundling towards a pizza place in Brooklyn that Pete had been dying to try. There was something strangely hypnotic and peaceful about being in a metal tube that hurtled you towards your destination with no cares if you got on or got off. Caroline was pressed into Patrick’s side, eyes closed as she napped in that way that only children could--anywhere and against anything. He looked down at their clasped hands resting on his thigh and couldn’t help it. Scooting closer, he pressed a soft kiss to Patrick’s cheek, just under the hard plastic line of his sunglasses and was rewarded with a hum and his head laying gently on Pete’s shoulder. 

 

“Having fun?” He murmured in that low way you learned to on the subway if you wanted to avoid being glared at by the rest of the passengers. 

 

Patrick nodded, hand squeezing his as he smiled. “Yeah, I really am. It’s nice to be out doing normal things with you two.” 

 

“Sure is.” Pete grinned as he watched the walls fly by...it was perfect, if you asked him. 

 

By the time they reached Mission Sound, Caroline was yawning every five steps as they scurried back through the chill wind. They got her to bed, and Pete had felt something warm curl under his heart as she pronounced she wanted  _ Pete  _ to read her a story because he did the best voices...but that Uncle Patrick still had to sing to her. Together they tucked her into bed, with Pete sitting next to her bed and Patrick perched on the foot. He read the next chapter of  _ A Wrinkle in Time _ , making his voice high and reedy as he spoke the Oracle’s words, making Caroline giggle even as her brow furrowed in concern at his pronouncement. 

 

“Sing me something, Uncle Patrick.” She murmured sleepily as Pete turned the light off and set the book on the nightstand. 

 

“What do you want to hear, pumpkin?” 

 

“Something pretty.” She let out a yawn and pulled her stuffed dog close. 

 

So Patrick sang  _ Come Away with Me _ , low and soothing into the blue dimness and Pete couldn’t help but close his eyes and let himself be carried away. He chased that with  _ My Way _ , crooning every bit as sweet as Frank Sinatra. By the time he’d finished Caroline was fast asleep, and Pete took his hand so he could lead him gently from the room. 

 

They didn’t say much as they climbed the stairs, the triumphant melancholy of the song wrapped around him like a heavy blanket. He slipped into the bathroom, mind twisting and vibrating along ideas as he got ready for bed and traded with Patrick. By the time he emerged and crawled into bed with him, Pete had made up his mind. 

 

“Hey...can we do something?” 

 

“Is this when you tell me you’ve got a furry suit in your bag?” Patrick snarked against his neck, pressing a nip there that made him shiver. 

 

“Uh, yeah that’s a definite  _ no _ .” He rolled his eyes even though he knew Patrick couldn’t see it. “I was thinking...maybe we could do something different?” Patrick just hummed against his neck, so he ran his fingers through his hair and pushed onward. “Want you to fuck me.” 

 

“Yeah?” Patrick breathed onto his neck, fingers dipping under the covers to caress the soft skin of his testicles, a chuckle rumbling through his chest as Pete let out a shuddered breath. “Why?” 

 

“Just...want you. Please?” He tipped his head murmur against Patrick’s lips as his fingers wrapped delicately around his shaft--hard and throbbing already with anticipation. 

 

“Since you asked so nicely…” The hand left his cock and Pete wanted to whine in frustration as Patrick rolled over to dig in his nightstand drawer. But then Patrick was back, soft fingers trailing down his skin as he burrowed under the covers with a muffled huff of breath. Then Pete had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from shouting as a perfectly warm, incredibly talented set of lips took him in deep and lube-slick fingers tease between his cheeks.. 

 

“ _ Please _ .” He whispered again, head spinning with want and desire as the fingers dipped inside--stretching, feathering, plumbing  until he was writhing down against them even as he tried to not thrust up deeper into the wet heat swallowing his cock. The flat of Patrick’s tongue slipped across the sensitive underside and he let out a low moan as he searched his insides for that perfect place deep within as Pete threw the covers back so he could watch. His mouth looked obscene, looked perfect stretched around his cock and then his fingers found that place--found the aching place within him that made his legs lock up and back arch like he’d been struck by lightning. “Yes, yes  _ there _ oh my fucking-- _ God _ that’s--I’m--” He felt the wave building in him, the crest just starting to rise and he shook with it--but this wasn’t how he wanted to tumble off it. “Patrick--’Trick, please stop, I’m gonna--”

 

There was a slurping sound as Patrick pulled off to tilt his head up at him. “You’re not--let me open you up more, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

 

“You won’t.” Pete promised, pulling him up before rolling Patrick to his back. “I promise, just--I need you  _ right now _ .” He straddled Patrick’s hips and ground down. “Wanna ride you. Is that--is that okay? Please let me, I--” Patrick’s fingers slipped around his cock as he let out a low chuckle at the way Pete gasped and slumped over as he gave him a leisurely pump.  

 

“Can’t think of a world where I’d say no to  _ that _ .” He smiled, hand fumbling across the mattress for the lube, and Pete reached over to push it into his grasp. Slicking his hand up, Patrick’s mouth fell open as he coated his own cock, and  _ fuck _ if that wasn’t just the hottest thing ever. When it was sufficiently slick, Pete batted his hand away to take over himself. Patrick gasped at the feel of his fingers as he shuffled forward, hovering over him and pressing the head to his entrance. Gentle hands settled around his hips, rubbing small circles, and Pete took a deep breath, blowing it out in a huff as he began to sink down, to take him in.  _ Jesusfuck _ Patrick gasped out, writhing beneath him like  _ he  _ was the one who was taking a well-endowed cock into his own body, and Pete reveled in it with the part of his brain that wasn’t wholly-concentrated on not splitting apart as he bottomed out, ass flush to the bony press of Patrick’s hips. He slumped a bit, hand coming to rest over Patrick’s heart as he concentrated on breathing through his nose and trying to relax…

 

But then a gentle hand was trailing up his torso, flitting like butterfly wings up to echo the curve of his cheek. He hadn’t realized he had shut his eyes...but he opened them when Patrick whispered reverently, “ _ Fuck _ , you’re so beautiful.” 

 

“How do you know?” He couldn’t help but tease as he felt his body start to relax, start to ease and accept the intrusion. Patrick shook his head with a smile before pushing up, elbow beneath him to bring him closer as he pulled Pete down for a sweet kiss. 

 

“Because it’s true.” He whispered against his lips, and Pete moaned with it, with the feelings he could hear behind the words as he started to rock, to grind down with a swell of hips and a thrust of the spine. It had been a  _ while _ since he’d done this but it felt--it felt  _ so good _ , it was everything he’d been needing without even knowing it. Patrick gasped as he moved, scrabbling to push up onto his hands and soon enough Pete was helping to push him back against the headboard, to pile pillows behind him even as he tried not to cry out at the press of the hardness of his cock inside him. But then he was leaning forward just enough into Patrick’s embrace, warm arms wound around him with long fingers wound into his hair as their mouths crashed together in time with his hips. He rocked and ground, Patrick’s cock brushing against that perfect epicenter of white-hot incandescence inside him and he felt like he was riding the wave...it was carrying him along in a tsunami of tongues and hips and murmured gasps and stifled cries. 

 

Patrick’s eyes were scrunched closed, fair hair plastered to his temples as he grasped Pete’s hips, thrusting up and pulling him down until it felt like all the air was rushing from Pete’s lungs as he reached his hand down to wrap around his cock...but he never made it. His fingers were still trailing down Patrick’s chest when he jolted his hips up at the perfect angle, driving his cock against his prostate, and he Pete was careening off the edge, striping them both white as he buried his face in Patrick’s neck as he came endlessly. His vision exploded with color as he gasped out weak cries against the sweat-slick skin, mewling and shuddering as Patrick’s fingers tightened against his hip bones, as he hammered home a final time. Distantly he felt the rush of wet heat deep inside him, felt the way he bucked beneath him as his teeth sunk into his shoulder. The torrent crashed down on them both--endless and thick with muffled cries and gasped names and he realized there was no place in the world more perfect. 

 

He groaned as Patrick rolled him to the side with a shudder as his softening cock slipped from him, and Pete felt the ridiculous burn of tears under his eyelids as he was pulled close, gentle praise murmured into his scalp. Words, blinding like a supernova and jumbled like a hurricane swirled around his brain, and he couldn’t help it--couldn’t help the way the most important of them all tumbled from his lips. 

 

“I love you.” 

 

There was a sharp intake of breath and his eyes snapped open, terrified he had ruined it, he had pushed too fast and this perfect moment had been ruined. His brain started to whirl with apologies, with bitter explanations that were mostly lies...but then Patrick was pulling him  _ closer _ , was tipping his chin up with fumbling hands to press the words against his lips. 

 

“I love  _ you _ . So much.” 

  
Part of him wanted to jump up and bounce on the bed like a five-year-old that his reckless moment of transparency hadn’t backfired, that  _ Patrick loved him back _ . But as his boyfriend kissed him deep and tender, all blinding love and easy acceptance, he decided this was all the celebration he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> I may continue this...we'll see...I like this universe =) Also as a note, I don't know anything about LHONs beyond what I've googled extensively. I hope I'm representing the folks out there who go through this well, but if I'm mis-representing anything about either the condition or legal blindness, I'd love any advice/criticism/info! <3


End file.
